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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


WORDS    AND    THEIR    WAYS 
IN   ENGLISH   SPEECH 


^ 


WORDS  AND  THEIR  WAYS 
IN  ENGLISH  SPEECH 


BY 

JAMES   BRADSTPvEET   GREENOUGH 

PKOFESSOR   OF   LATIN    IX    HARVARD    UNIVERSITY 
AND 

GEORGE   LYMAN   KITTREDGE 

PROFESSOR   OF    ENGLISH    IN    HARVARD    UNIVEKSITY 


ilontian 
MACMILLAN  AND  CO.,  Limited 

NEW  YORK:  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

1902  '''      ,.   ■\ 

All  ''i^hls  rt'si'r7'Cii 


rnPYKIOHT,   1001, 

By  the  .MAC.MII, lax  CO.MPAXV. 


College 
Library 

Ft 


C'<fSL<) 


MEMORTAK 

FRANCISCI    lACOBI    CHILI) 

MVLTOS     ANNOS 
VXIV.     ][ARV.     ritOFESSORIS 

DVO 

DISCIPVLI    EIVS    ET    AMICI 

VT    CVM    EO    ITA    IXTEK    SE    CONIVNGTI 

VTERQVE    EIV8DEM    YXIV.    PROF. 

SED    LUXUE    DIVERS.    AETATVM    ET    DIVERS.    STVDIORVM 

GRATI 

iivxc   Lii;i;VM 

DEDKJANT 


^  O.r^  r*  Ai  MX) 

«<J.   #-*:     ^  ^-"-.A-     k 


0 


PREFACE 

The  practical  man,  who  rides  in  electric  cars,  talks  by 
the  long-distance  telephone,  and  dictates  his  letters  to  a 
stenographer,  seldom  has  time  to  think  that  he  is  the  heir 
of  all  the  ages.  Yet,  however  busy  he  may  be,  there  are 
moments  when  the  amazing  phenomenon  of  articulate 
speech  comes  home  to  him  as  a  kind  of  commonplace 
miracle.  To  answer  some  of  the  questions  that  occur  to 
one  at  such  moments  is  the  main  purpose  of  this  book. 

Chapters  XIII  and  XIV  are  an  essential  part  of  the 
treatment,  but  have  been  so  adjusted  that  the  reader  who 
linds  them  abstruse  may  skip  them  without  scruple. 

Obligations  are  thankfully  acknowledged  to  a  long  line 
of  etymologists,  lexicographers,  and  philologists,  whom  it 
would  be  mere  pedantry  to  call  by  name.  The  writers 
find  themselves  especially  indebted  to  the  great  Oxford 
Dictionary,  to  the  publications  of  Professor  Skeat,  and 
to  the  etymological  work  of  Professor  Sheldon  in  Web- 
ster's International  Dictionary.  Thanks  are  also  due  to 
A.  C.  Goodell,  Esq.,  Albert  Matthews,  Esq.,  and  Professor 
Sheldon  for  particular  favors. 

J.   B.  G. 
(i.  L.  K. 


vu 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 


I.  The  Origin  of  Language 

II.  Language  is  Poetry 

III.  Learned  Words  and  Poinilar  Words 

IV.  Learned  Words  become  Populai 
V.  Technical  or  Class  Dialects  . 

\'I.  Slan^'  and  Legitimate  Speech 

VII.  The  Literary  Language 

VIII.  The  Latin  in  ICnglish 

IX.  Fashion  in  Language     . 

X.  Complexity  of  the  English  Vocabulary 

XI.  Unity  of  the  English  Vocabulary 

XII.  Cognates  and  I'lorrowed  Words 

XIII.  The   Development  of   \\'ords.      1.    Roots,  Stem 

flection       .... 

XIV.  The    Development   of   ^^'ords.       II.     Derivatioi 

Composition 

XV.  Fossils 

XVI.  The  Conventional  Character  of  Language 

XVn.  (Jeneralization  and  Specialization  of  Meaning 

XVIII.  Special   Processes  in  the   Development  of  Mea 

Kadiation,  etc.  ...:.. 

XIX.     Transference  of  ^Meaning      .         ,         .         .         ■ 

ix 


.  In 


and 


.      1 

7 
19 
29 

42 
55 
80 
93 

110 

128 
117 
lot) 

lUS 

IS.') 
l!);i 

•JIM 

2;J4 

25!) 


X 


CONTEXTS 


CHAPTER 

XX.     Desreneration  of  Meaning 


XXI.  Euphemism 

XXII.  Hyperbole  or  Exaggeration  . 

XX  III.  Folk-Etymology    .... 

XXIV.  Doublets  and  Homonyms 

XXV.  Words  from  the  Names  of  Animals 

XXVI.  AVords  from  Places  or  Persons      . 


Appendi: 


PAGE 

284 


;]00 

330 
345 
3G1 
372 


Index  of  Mattkhs 


391 
397 


Index  of  Words 


-111 


WORDS    AND    THEIR    WAYS 
IN  ENGLISH   SPEECH 


ABBREVIATIONS 

^..V.,  Anglo-Norman.  i.,  Latin. 

A.S.,  Anglo-Saxon.  L.L.,  Low  Latin. 

Fr.,  French.  0.  II.  Ger.,  Old  High  German. 

Ger.,  German.  O.X.,  Old  Norse. 

(tj*.,  Greek.  P;/.,  Portuguese. 

ItaJ.,   Italian.  iS>.,  Spanish. 


WORDS    AND    THEIR   WAYS 

CHAPTER    I 

THE   ORIGIN   OF   LANGUAGE 

The  expression  of  our  thoughts  by  means  of  hmguage 
is  a  practice  of  so  long  standing  that  we  accept  it  ahnost 
as  an  instinctive  performance.  Nobody  can  remember 
when  or  how  he  learned  to  talk.  Indeed,  it  is  seldom 
possible  to  recall  even  those  moments  in  later  life  when, 
after  the  art  of  speech  had  been  acquired,  we  became 
familiar  with  particular  words  which,  as  we  know  well 
enough,  must  have  been  from  time  to  time  added  to  our 
personal  vocabulary.  We  can,  to  be  sure,  remember  when 
we  were  first  introduced  to  the  technical  language  of  some 
particular  science,  as  mathematics  or  medicine  or  political 
economy.  We  may  even  recollect  the  person  from  whom 
we  first  heard  a  new  phrase  which  lias  since  become  a  part 
of  our  habitual  stock.  And  all  of  us  are  aware  of  specific 
additions  to  our  vocabulary  from  that  ephemeral  element 
in  everyday  speech  known  as  'slang,'  which  is  con- 
stantly providing  us  with  strange  terms  that  force  them- 
selves upon  our  attention  because  everybody  employs 
them,  and  that  rapidly  die  out  only  to  be  replaced  by 
equally  grotesque  novelties.  But  the  sum-total  of  our 
X'etrospect    accounts    for    only    the    minutest    fraction   of 

B  1 


2  WOBDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

our  whole  outfit  of  words  and  phrases.  And  were  it  not 
for  our  observation  of  infants,  who  cannot  speak  at  all, 
and  of  young  children,  who  are  painfully  learning  the  art 
of  speech,  we  should  inevitably  believe  that  the  expression 
of  our  thoughts  in  language  was  spontaneous  action,  quite 
independent  of  our  own  will  and  exertions,  like  breathing 
or  the  circulation  of  the  blood. 

Yet  no  phenomenon  is  more  amazing  than  that  of  speech. 
Nor  can  any  process  be  imagined  more  complicated  than 
that  by  which  the  vocabulary  of  a  highly  developed  lan- 
guage, like  English,  comes  into  existence  and  fits  itself  to 
the  multifarious  needs  of  civilized  man  in  the  utterance  of 
thought  and  emotion.  If  to  the  process  of  oral  speech  we 
add  the  corollary  processes  of  reading  and  writing,  we 
have  a  series  of  phenomena  Avhich  no  thinking  man  can 
contemplate  without  a  kind  of  awe. 

Language  is  the  expression  of  thought  by  means  of 
words;  that  is,  by  means  of  signs  of  a  peculiar  sort  made 
with  the  vocal  organs.  Since  the  tongue  is  one  of  the 
most  important  of  these  organs,  and  since  we  are  habitu- 
ally conscious  of  using  it  in  articulation,  we  often  call  our 
language  our  '  tongue,'  —  and  the  word  languar/e  itself  is 
derived,  through  the  French,  from  lingua,  the  Latin  name 
for  that  organ.  1 

The  origin  of  language  is  an  unsolved  problem.  It  was 
once  supposed  that  man  was  created  a  talking  animal;  that 
is  to  say,  that  he  could  speak  immediately  on  his  creation, 
through  a  special  faculty  inherent  in  his  very  nature. 
Some  scholars  maintained  that  our  first  parents  were 
instructed  in  the  rudiments  of  speech  by  God  himself, 
or  that  language  in  esse  was  a  gift  bestowed  by  the  deity 

1  M.E.  langage,  from  Fr.  langage,  from  L.  linguq. 


THE  ORIGIN   OF  LANGUAGE  3 

immediately  after  Adam  was  created.  Along  with  these 
opinions  went,  in  former  times,  the  opinion  that  Hebrew, 
the  language  of  the  Jewish  Scriptures,  was  the  primitive 
tongue  of  mankind.  None  of  these  views  are  now  in 
favor,  either  with  theologians  or  with  philologists.  How- 
ever we  conceive  the  first  man  to  have  come  into  exis- 
tence, we  are  forced  to  believe  that  language  as  we  know 
it  was  a  human  invention.  Not  language  itself,  but  the 
inherent  power  to  frame  and  develop  a  language  was  the 
birthright  of  man.  This  result,  it  will  be  seen,  is  purely 
negative.  It  defines  what  the  origin  of  language  was  twt, 
but  it  throws  no  light  on  the  question  what  it  2i'as,  and  no 
satisfactory  answer  to  the  question  has  ever  been  proposed. 
Some  scholars  believe  that  human  speech  originated  in 
man's  attempt  to  imitate  the  sounds  of  nature,  as  if  a 
child  should  call  a  dog  'bow-wow,'  or  a  cow  'moo.'  No 
doubt  such  imitation  accounts  for  a  certain  number  of 
words  in  our  vocabulary,  but  there  are  great  difficulties 
in  carrying  out  the  theory  to  its  ultimate  results.  All 
that  can  be  said  is  that  the  '  bow-wow  theory,'  as  it  is 
jocosely  called,  has  never  been  driven  from  the  field. 
Another  view,  which  may  be  traced  without  any  great 
difficulty  to  Herder's  attempt  to  explain  'the  speech  of 
animals,'  has  found  a  warm  defender  in  Max  Miiller. 
According  to  this  view,  which  has  a  specious  appearance 
of  philosophical  profundity,  the  utterances  of  primitive 
man  were  the  spontaneous  result,  by  reflex  action,  of  im- 
pressions produced  upon  him  by  various  external  phenom- 
ena. Though  the  'ding-dong  theory,'  as  it  is  derisively 
called,  is  now  discredited,  and,  in  its  entirety,  is  hardly 
susceptible  of  intelligible  statement,  it  may,  after  all,  con- 
tain a  grain  of  truth. 

Another  partly  discredited  theory  seeks  the  origin  of 


4  WOEDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

languai^e  in  such  involuntary  exclamations  as  oh  !  bah ! 
■psJiaiu!  and  the  like.  Hence  it  is  often  called  the  '  pooh- 
pooh  theory.' 

The  upshot  of  the  whole  discussion  is  a  confession  of 
ignorance.  The  impossibility  of  arriving  at  the  truth  is 
more  and  more  evident,  as  the  stupendous  length  of  man's 
residence  upon  this  planet  before  the  dawn  of  history  is 
more  and  more  clearly  recognized.  We  do  not  know, 
and  we  can  never  know,  how  language  began.  Yet  we 
can  study  some  of  the  processes  of  its  development  in 
form  and  in  meaning  for  a  period  extending  over  several 
thousand  years,  and  we  find  these  processes  essentially 
identical  with  those  that  we  can  imperfectly  observe 
within  the  limits  of  our  own  lifetime. 

Well-chosen  words,  arranged  in  a  felicitous  order,  have 
a  peculiar  cadence  which  pleases  the  ear,  irrespective  of 
any  meaning  which  they  convey  to  the  mind.^  If  the 
cadence  is  sufficiently  measured,  the  result  is  verse  or, 
to  use  the  popular  term,  poetry.  Now  it  is  a  familiar  fact 
of  literary  history  that  good  poetry  always  precedes  good 
prose  in  the  order  of  development.  Indeed,  the  art  of 
writing  unmetrical  language  in  a  forcible  and  pleasing 
style  is  one  of  the  latest  achievements  of  any  literature. 

In  the  eighteenth  century,  when  much  attention  was 
given  to  literary  and  linguistic  origins,  but  when  these 
were  investigated  on  a  basis  rather  of  sentimental  pre- 
possession than  of  scientific  reason,  and  when  the  body 
of  material  available  for  evidence  was  extremely  scanty 
and  had  not  been  properly  sifted,   a  peculiar  theory  of 

iThis  is  shown  by  the  popularity  of  nursery  rhymes  and  similar  non- 
sensical jingles.  Compare  also  'The  Hunting  of  the  Snark,'  and  Ay- 
touu's  parody  on  Tennyson  :  '  Worship  Mighty  Mumbo  -Jumbo  in  the 
Mountains  of  the  Moon.' 


THE  ORIGIN    OF  LANGUAGE  6 

the  connection  between  language  and  poetry  gained  very 
general  favor.  It  was  expressed  in  a  taking  form  by 
Hamann,  whose  celebrated  dictum,  '  Poetry  is  the  mother 
tongue  of  man,'  was  taken  up  and  enforced  by  Herder  in 
a  way  that  gave  it  a  commanding  influence  on  contempo- 
rary thought,  —  an  influence,  indeed,  which  it  has  not 
altogether  lost,  even  in  the  present  age,  whose  tendencies 
are  so  different  from  those  that  prevailed  a  hundred  years 
ago. 

Primitive  man  was  conceived  b}^  the  romantic  imagina- 
tion of  the  eighteenth  century  as  leading  an  ideal  existence. 
Uncorrupted  by  contact  with  civilization,  he  lived  near 
to  nature,  and  all  nature  spoke  to  him  in  a  voice  more 
immediately  intelligible  than  we  can  now  conceive,  even 
in  the  case  of  a  poet  like  Wordsworth.  Thus  sympatheti- 
cally impressed  by  natural  phenomena,  man  gave  utterance 
to  the  thoughts  and  feelings  which  they  produced  within 
him  in  melodious  sounds,  which  instantly  took  shape 
as  poetry.  In  short,  according  to  this  conception,  lan- 
guage and  song  are  inseparable,  and  our  poetry  is  nothing 
but  a  survival,  under  more  artificial  conditions,  of  the 
primitive  language  which  mankind  uttered  in  the  Golden 
Age. 

Such  theories  are  now  known  to  be  based  on  a  false 
conception  of  the  history  of  mankind  as  well  as  of  the 
nature  of  articulate  speech.  Yet,  like  all  theories  that 
have  at  any  time  commanded  the  assent  of  thinking  men, 
they  must  embody,  in  an  imperfect  expression,  some  quan- 
tum of  truth.  Primitive  man  may  not  have  sung  like 
the  birds,  but  there  is  certainly  a  natural  rhythm  in 
language  to  which  the  mind  and  feelings  immediatel}'' 
respond,  just  as  there  is  a  natural  rhythm  in  the  beat- 
ing of  the  heart,  the  drawing  of  the  breath,  and  even  in 


6  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

many  movements  of  the  body  which  we  call  '  voluntary ' 
and  regard  as  arbitrarily  controlled  by  the  individual  will. 
Language,  that  is  to  say,  may  not  be  poetry  in  esse,  but 
it  is  always  potential  verse.  From  another  point  of  view, 
too,  the  saying  of  Hamann  may  be  justified  if  we  inter- 
pret it  with  the  license  that  all  oracles  demand.  There 
is  no  process  of  figurative  language,  no  device  of  gram- 
mar or  rhetoric,  no  whim  even  of  pedantic  theorizers  on 
eloquence,  which  does  not  find  its  parallel  over  and  over 
again  in  the  unstudied  processes  of  our  ordinary  speech. 
It  is  profoundly  true  that  'all  language  is  poetry.' ^ 

iFor  further  remarks  ou  the  origlu  of  lauguage  see  p.  391. 


CHAPTER   II 

LANGUAGE    IS    POETRY 

When  we  examine  the  dictionary  of  any  highly  devel- 
oped language  like  English,  we  are  impressed  not  only 
with  the  enormous  extent  of  the  vocabulary,  but  with  its 
infinite  variety.  There  are  plain  words  for  common  things 
(as  breads  stone,  Jioiise,  child,  horse')  and  simple  physical 
acts  (as  eat,  drink,  run,  climb);  there  are  formal  or  digni- 
fied or  poetical  words  for  equally  simple  conceptions  (like 
residence,  progeny,  quaff,  masticate') ;  there  are  vague  words 
(like  thing,  affair,  matter,  act,  do)  and  scientific  terms  of 
rigid  exactness  (like  oxygen,  atmosphere,  chloride,  carbon, 
inoculate);  there  are  abstract  terms  for  mental  and  moral 
qualities  (as  sagacity,  carelessness,  p)robity,  honor)  and  ad- 
jectives describing  persons  who  exemplify  these  qualities 
(as  sagacious,  careless,  honest,  honorable);  there  are  words 
of  a  distinctly  undignified  character  (like  chum,  crank, 
bamboozle,  blubber,  baivL  fizzle),  others  so  dignified  as  to  be 
uncommon  in  familiar  talk  (as  remunerative,  emolument, 
eleemosynary,  recalcitrant)  or  so  high-sounding  as  hardly 
to  be  allowable  even  in  elaborate  writing  (as  exacerbate, 
cachinnation,  adumbrate);  there  are  words  which  have 
poetical  associations  (as  golden,  roseate,  silver-tojigued, 
gambol,  soaring,  eterne),  and  others  so  prosaic  that  every 
poet  avoids  them  (as  fry,  exchequer,  discount,  cross-ques- 
tion, extra,  7nedium,  miscellatieous) ;  there  are  words  so 
technical  as  to  be  understood  by  specialists  only  (as  elec- 

7 


8  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

trol^sis,  cotyledon^  ontologij^  quaternions)^  and  others  so 
childish  as  to  be  conlined  to  tiie  dialect  of  the  nursery  (as 
naiKjhty,  mammy ^  dad,  dolly'). 

Frequently,  too,  we  find  a  number  of  different  words 
('  synonjnns,'  we  call  them)  for  what  is  essentially  the 
same  idea  :  ^  ask,  request,  beseech,  pray,  bey,  jjetition,  suppli- 
cate, entreat,  implore,  solicit,  crave,  importune ;  ayigry, 
ivrathful,  incensed,  irritated,  vexed,  resentfid,  enraged,  furi- 
ous, indigjiant,  exasperated,  irate,  hot,  infuriated ;  join, 
unite,  associate,   unify,  link,  connect,  couple,  coynbinc.'^ 

The  same  marvellous  variety  shows  itself  when  we  study 
the  different  meanings  of  a  single  word.  Thus  figure  may 
be  equally  well  applied  to  a  person's  form,  a  polygon,  a 
numerical  sign,  an  elaborate  drawing  or  picture  in  a  book, 
a  metaphor  or  simile  ;  energy  may  be  used  in  a  general 
sense  or  in  the  technical  language  of  science  ('the  con- 
servation of  energy'');  property  may  be  a  quality,  one's 
possessions,  or  (in  theatrical  language)  a  thing  or  utensil 
used  in  setting  the  stage  ;  character  may  refer  to  one's 
personal  qualities,  or  it  may  denote  a  mark  or  sign  in 
writing  or  printing,  or  it  may  be  colloquially  used  for  an 
eccentric  person. 

The  question  is  immediately  suggested  :  Whence  does  a 
nation  provide  itself  with  this  enormous  mass  of  words, 
with  their  multifarious  meanings  so  aptly  differentiated  as 
to  express  all  the  aspects  of  any  conception  that  can  occur 
to  the  mind  of  civilized  man  ? 

In  the  first  place,  no  people  is  perfectly  homogeneous, 


1  So-called  synonyms  almost  always  differ  from  each  other  in  some 
shade  of  meaning,  or  in  emphasis,  or  at  all  events  in  their  connotations. 

2  The  reader  may  easily  multiply  examples  by  collecting,  for  instance, 
the  synonyms  for  avjkwanl,  beautiful,  heaUh>/,  strange^  throiv,  go,  law, 
sin,  people,  custom. 


LANGUAGE  IS   POETRY  9 

and  this  is  strikingly  true  of  the  English  nation,  which  is 
'  Saxon  and  Norman  and  Dane,'  as  Tennyson  wrote,  and 
Celtic  as  well.  Each  component  part  of  the  population 
contributes  its  proportion  of  words,  —  small  or  large,  but 
always  characteristic,  and  distinct  in  many  particulars  from 
the  contributions  of  all  the  rest.  Then,  too,  all  cultivated 
languages  have  borrowed  much  from  outside  nations  with 
whom  they  have  come  in  contact  in  war  or  trade  or  litera- 
ture. Our  own  language,  as  we  shall  see,  has  enriched 
itself  in  this  Avay  from  every  quarter  of  the  globe. 

The  varied  materials  thus  brought  together  are  con- 
stantly subjected  to  what  may  be  called  mechanical  pro- 
cesses of  growtli.'  Every  language  has  its  machinery  of 
prefixes  and  sulhxes  and  compounds,  by  means  of  which  a 
single  word  may  become  the  centre  of  a  considerable  group 
of  related  terms  :  as,  true,  tni-th,  trultj,  iin-tnic,  un-tru-ly, 
tru-th'ful,  tru-th-ful-ness,  etc. 

But  these  causes  are  not  sufiicient  to  explain  the  richness 
and  complexity  of  our  speech.  Such  a  result  was  achieved 
only  when  this  great  mass  of  variously  derived  material 
had  been  subjected  for  centuries  to  the  language-making 
instinct ;  that  is,  to  the  poetic  faculty  of  man.  The  dictum 
that  'all  language  is  poetry,'  then,  if  properly  understood, 
goes  far  toward  answering  the  question  with  which  we 
are  concerned. 

The  essentially  poetical  or  figurative  character  of  lan- 
guage may  easily  be  seen  by  comparing  a  number  of 
passages  from  the  poets  with  ordinary'-  prosaic  expressions 

When  Wordsworth  writes,  in  Laodamia, — 

The  gods  approve, 
The  depth,  and  not  the  tunudt  of  the  soul, 

1  These  processes  will  be  studied  in  Chapters  XIII,  XIV. 


10  WORDS   AND    THEIR    WAYS 

the  imaginative  power  of  his  phrasing  at  once  appeals  to 
us.  If,  however,  we  compare  such  common  expressions  as 
'He  was  deeply/  moved,'  '•profoundly  affected,'  'from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart,'  we  recognize  the  same  figure  of 
speech.  In  other  words,  the  poetical  history  of  Words- 
worth's line  goes  back  to  that  unknown  time  when  some 
primitive  poet,  without  knowing  that  he  was  talking 
poetry,  tirst  applied  to  the  emotions  words  which  in 
their  literal  sense  were  only  applicable  to  the  physical 
conception  of  depth.  As  time  has  passed,  the  primitive 
metaphor  has  grown  so  familiar  that  it  has  ceased  to  be  a 
metaphor.  It  has  become  merely  an  ordinary  meaning  of 
a  group  of  common  words.  The  modern  poet,  perceiv- 
ing the  imaginative  significance  of  this  usage,  elaborated 
the  figure  it  embodied,  phrased  it  anew  with  conscious 
literary  art,  and  thus,  in  an  instant,  restored  it  to  its  full 
poetic  rights.  Similarly,  we  may  compare  with  '  the 
tumult  of  the  soul,'  such  prose  expressions  as  'his  mind 
was  disturbed,''  '  his  agitation  was  painful  to  witness,' 
'the  violence  of  his  emotion,'' — each  of  which,  though  no 
longer  felt  as  figurative,  embodies  a  metaphor  precisely 
similar  to  Wordsworth's.^  We  are  not  at  this  moment 
concerned  with  the  ethical  or  philosophical  contents  of 
Wordsworth's  line,  for  these  might  have  been  stated, 
with  perfect  accuracy,  in  the  plainest  terms,  but  merely 
with  the  poetical  language  in  which  he  clothed  his 
thought. 

When  Banquo  says  to  Macbeth  that  the  witches'  saluta- 
tion 'might  yet  enkindle  him  unto  the  crown,'  we  perceive 

1  Disturb  is  to  'drive  asunder  in  disorder,'  from  L.  dis-,  'apart,'  and 
turhd,  'disorder,'  'a  riotous  crowd.'  Agitation  comes  from  L.  agito, 
'to  drive  to  and  fro.'  Violence  is  from  vis,  'force.'  Emotion  is  the 
'act  of  moving  (one)  away,'  'disturbance  (of  mind).' 


LANGUAGE  IS  POETRY  11 

that  enkindle  is  used  metaphorically.  So,  also,  when 
Macbeth  declares 

'  I  have  no  spur 
To  prick  the  sides  of  my  inteut.' 

But  we  feel  the  figure  less  vividly  iu  such  a  phrase  as 
''fired  with  ambition,'  and  in  the  terms  instigation  and 
ince7itive  we  are  not  conscious  of  any  metaphor  whatever. 
Yet  instigation  comes  from  a  root  which  means  '  to  goad,' 
and  incentive  means  literally  '  that  which  sets  the  tune ' 
(from  L.  in  and  cayiere^  '  to  sing ')  ;  so  that  both  these 
words  were,  in  their  first  application  to  '  motives '  or 
'promptings,'  quite  as  poetical  as  either  enkindle  or  spur. 

The  ordinary  processes  by  which  words  change  their 
meanings  are,  then,  essentially  the  same  as  the  devices  of 
poetry  ;  or,  to  express  the  fact  more  accurately,  the  fig- 
urative language  of  poetry  differs  from  the  speech  of 
common  life  mainly  in  employing  fresher  figures,  or  in 
revivifying  those  which  have  lost  their  freshness  from  age 
and  constant  use. 

Language  is  fossil  poetry  which  is  constantly  being 
worked  over  for  the  uses  of  speech.  Our  commonest 
words  are  worn-out  metaphors. 

Thus,  depend  is  literally  'to  hang  from'  (L.  de- 
pendo') ;  egregious  means  '  selected  from  the  [common] 
herd  '  (L.  e,  '  from,'  and  gre.v,  gregis,  '  herd  ')  ;  spoil  means 
'to  strip,'  i.e.  'to  strip  off  the  armor,  etc.,  of  a  slain 
or  defeated  enemy ';  front  means  'forehead'  (L.  fro7is, 
frontis')  ;  to  fret  is  originally  '  to  eat  up,'  '  to  devour ' 
(^A.^.  fretan,  for-.,  'away,'  and  etan.,  'eat'),  —  compare 
'  gnawing  anxiety  ' ;  precocious  means  '  too  early  ripe  ' 
(L.  praecox.,  from  prae-.,  'before,'  and  coquo.,  'to  cook,' 
'to    ripen');  to  thrill   is   literally    'to  bore,' '  to  pierce,' 


12  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

and  is  related  to  drill  (the  same  word  is  seen  in  nostril^ 
formerly  Jiosethril) ;  sullen  means  at  first  '  solitary '  and 
comes  (through  the  French)  from  L  solus,  '  alone ' 
(whence  our  adjective  sole}. 

Such  illustrations  might  be  multiplied  indefinitely.  In- 
deed, almost  every  word  that  we  shall  have  occasion  to 
study  will  serve  as  an  example,  for  the  processes  that  we 
are  considering  go  on  incessantly  so  long  as  a  language 
is  alive.  We  shall  find  that  there  is  no  device  which  we 
are  accustomed  to  call  jioetical,  no  similitude  so  slight,  no 
metaphor  so  strained  or  so  commonplace,  that  language 
has  not  seized  upon  it  to  make  new  forms  of  expression 
as  the  needs  of  advancing  thought  required  them.  Even 
when  the  resultant  words  appear  intensely  ]n'osaic,  the 
processes  that  created  them  are  identical  with  those  of 
artistic  poetry. 

This  important  truth  may  be  further  illustrated  in  the 
growth  of  words  from  a  single  root. 

The  Indo-European  family  of  languages  (to  which  be- 
long Sanskrit,  Greek,  Latin,  English,  and  many  other 
tongues)  had  a  simple  linguistic  form  (a  '  root ')  pet, 
which  signified  'rapid  motion  across  the  field  of  vision.'  ^ 
This  root  is  clearly  seen  in  the  Latin  verb  peto.  Since 
such  motion  is  produced  either  by  faUlng  or  by  flying^ 
words  with  these  meanings  have  been  formed  from  the 
root  PET  in  various  languages  of  our  family. ^  But  such 
motion  may  include  also  the  idea  of  ••  intentional  direc- 
tion.' Hence  other  words  from  the  same  root  have  ac- 
quired the  sense  of  '  aim,'  and,  by  the  transference  from 
actual  to  figurative  aim,  the  meanings  (originally  nieta- 
l)horical)  of  'seek'  and  'ask.'     All  three   senses,   'aim," 

1  For  tlie  nature  of  roots  and  stems  see  Chapter  XIII. 
^  Thus,  Gr.  iriwTW,  irLTviu,  '  1  fall '  ;  Tr^ro/xai,  '  1  Hy.' 


LANGUAGE  IS  POETRY  13 

'  seek,'  and  '  ask,'  are  found  in  the  Latin  verb  peto. 
Thus  from  this  one  root  pet,  we  have,  by  various  differ- 
entiations of  meaning,  such  words  ^  as  the  following :  — 

Latin  penna,  'a  means  of  flying,'  'a  wing,'  'a  featlier,'  —  whence, 
through  the  French,  the  English  pen,  originally  applied  to  a  quill 
used  for  writing,  but  now  extended  to  other  devices  (steel  pen, 
gold  pen,  stylographic  pen,  etc.). 

Greek  Trroio-t?  (ptosis),  'a  falling,'  —  then,  figuratively,  'a  case'  in 
grammar  (since  the  genitive,  dative,  and  other  so-called  'oMique ' 
cases  were  conceived  a.~^  falling  away  from  the  nominative,  which 
was  fancifully  called  the  'upright  case'). 

im-petus, '  a  force  of  forward  movement,'  —  first  literal,  tlien  figurative. 

ap-petite,  'a  craving'  (of  body  or  mind). 

re-peat,  'to  go  back  to  gel  something,'  'to  take  up  a  thing  a  second 
time.' 

petition,  '  a  seeking,'  '  a  request.' 

corn-petition,  'a  seeking  together,'  —  then,  esiiecially,  'rivalry'  (in 
modern  times  applied  especially  to  commercial  rivalry). 

petulant,  'butting'  (as  goats  do),  'attacking,'  —  then  figuratively,  for 
'  ill-humored,'  '  irritable.' 

Another  root,  pit,  meant  '  clean,'  and  thence  came  the 
Latin  adjectives  |>m^i^s,  'clean,'  and  purus,  'clear.'  From 
putus  arose  a  verb  puto,  'to  clean.'  In  a  vine-bearing 
country,  cleaning  is  particularly  '  pruning,'  and  from  that 
idea,  specially  applied  in  surgery,  we  get  amputation. 
In  mercantile  language  'to  clean  up  accounts'  ( putarc 
rationes}  became  a  common  expression  for  'reckoning,' 
and  finally  'accounts'  (^rationes')  was  dropped,  and  puto 
was  used  for  ' reckon  '  in  general  (as  in  computation^.  From 
'reckon'  we  pass  easily  to  'think,' ^  and  this  becomes  the 

1  These  words  are  built  up  by  the  mechanical  means  of  word-forma- 
tions developed  in  the  various  languages.  Such  formative  mechanics  will 
be  treated  later  (see  Chapters  XIII,  XIV). 

2  Compare  the  provincial  use  of  /  reckon  for  ■  I  tliink.'  in  both  Eng- 
land and  America, 


14  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

ruling  sense  of  puto  (as  in  the  adjective  putative^.  From 
the  same  mercantile  dialect  comes  imputo,  '  reckon  in,' 
'  credit  or  charge  to  the  account  of,'  whence  we  get  impu- 
tation. From  'considering'  or  'turning  back  to  observe' 
(cf.  re-gard,  respect,  both  meaning  originally  '  to  look 
back')  we  get  the  word  reputation;  and  deputation  is 
derived  from  another  idea  of  '  consideration  carried  out 
in  resolve.''  Thus  from  a  root  signifying  originally  'clean,' 
the  imagination  of  the  race,  utilizing  the  mechanical  means 
wdiich  the  laws  of  derivation  and  composition  afford,  has 
gradually  formed  a  group  of  words  of  the  most  varied 
meaning.  Vine-dressing,  surgery,  mathematics,  commerce, 
and  politics  are  all  included  within  this  circle,  and  one 
word  (reputation')  is  general  enough  to  apply  to  all  men. 
Finally  Ave  may  establish  the  poetical  character  of 
language  by  a  striking  and  conclusive  test.  Literature 
has  been  attentively  studied,  as  literature,  for  hundreds 
and  even  thousands  of  years.  Hence  there  has  grown  up 
among  scholars  a  set  of  technical  terms,  —  the  names  of 
the  so-called  '  figures  of  speech,'  —  which  designate  what 
are  commonly  regarded  as  the  ornaments  or  devices  that 
characterize  the  poetical  style  as  opposed  to  the  speech  of 
everyday  life.  Yet  it  is  easy  to  see  that  all  of  these 
'  figures '  are  perfectly  familiar  in  our  ordinary  talk. 
Metaphor,  the  most  important  of  all  figures,  we  have 
already  considered.  It  occurs  everywhere,  and  one  can 
hardly  utter  a  sentence  without  employing  it.  Every 
occupation  of  mankind,  every  subject  (however  remote) 
that  engages  man's  attention,  has  furnished  us  with  meta- 
phorical expressions.^  We  shall  have  occasion  to  return 
to  this  point  again  and  again.     For  the  present  we  may 

1  The  particular  sources  of  the  English  vocabulary  will  be  discussed  in 
later  chapters. 


LANGUAGE  IS  POETRY  15 

pass  to  other  figures,  making  a  selection  from  tliose  com- 
prised in  the  list  commonly  printed  in  works  on  grammar 
or  rhetoric. 

Simile  is  involved  in  the  great  class  of  English  adjec- 
tives that  end  in  -li/,  which  is  an  abraded  form  of  like} 
Thus  a  '  lyianly  boy  '  is  a  boy  who  is  '  like  a  man  '  in  certain 
traits  of  character.  So  cowardly^  ruffianly,  saintly,  homely 
('like  home,'  and  so  'ordinary,'  'commonplace,'  with  a 
further  development  of  meaning  in  America  to  '  hard- 
featured,'  'plain').  Still  clearer  cases  of  simile  are  the 
more  recent  adjectives  compounded  with  like :  as,  child- 
like, lionlike,  birdlike,  homelike,  etc. 

Metonymy  is  the  figure  by  which  a  thing  is  designated, 
not  by  its  own  name,  but  by  the  name  of  something  that 
resembles  or  suggests  it,  —  as  in  Tennyson's  '  the  bright 
death  '  for  '  the  keen  fatal  knife,'  or  Horace's  Pontica  loiniis 
for  'ship  of  wood  from  Pontus.'  This  'figure'  is  so  com- 
mon in  ordinar}^  speech  that  it  seldom  attracts  our  atten- 
tion. Thus  we  say  irons  for  '  fetters,'  glasses  for  '  specta- 
cles,' or  'drinking-glasses,'  the  knife  for  '  snrgery,'  canvas 
for  'sails,'  style  (from  L.  stilus,  a  writing  implement) 
for  '  manner  of  writing,'  bilboes  for  '  shackles '  (from  Bilbao, 
in  Spain,  famous  for  its  iron  and  steel),  and  so  on.  Many 
of  the  words  thus  treated  are  perfectly  prosaic,  but  the 
process  is  the  same  as  that  of  poetry.  A  man's  lineyi  or 
flannels  are  just  as  much  metonymy  as  Milton's  'nodding 
horror '  for  the  branches  of  a  thick  and  dismal  forest. 

Synecdoche  (the  part  for  the  whole,  the  genus  for  the 
species,  or  vice  versa')  is  seen  in  '  sixty  head '  (of  cattle), 
'fifty  sair  (of  ships),  'a  bottomry  bond,'  'a poll  tax,'  a 
rumshop,  a  gin-palace,  a  cutthroat  for  a  '  murderer,'  a  hang- 
man for  an  'executioner.' 

1  See  pp.  185-G  for  details. 


16  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

Antonomasia,  or  the  use  of  a  person's  name  for  any  one 
who  resembles  him,  is  very  counnon  :  a  Solomon,  a  Shi/- 
lock,  'a  Daniel  come  to  judgment,'  a  3Icecenas,  'a  reguhir 
Nero,'  'a  Roland  for  an  Oliver.'' 

Hyperbole  is  natural  in  unstudied  speech :  '  I  beg  a  thou- 
sand pardons,'  'scared  to  death,''  '  Fd  give  the  icorld  to  see 
him.'  Expressions  of  approval  and  disapproval  are  es- 
pecially affected  by  hyperbole  ('good  for  nothing,'  'a 
magnificent  idea '),  and  the  language  of  schoolgirls  is 
proverbially  made  up  of  it:  'thanks  awfully,'  'extrava- 
gantly fond,'  ' tremendously  angry,'  'immensely  obliged.' 

Antithesis  is  frequent  in  the  commonest  expressions: 
as,  '  up  and  down,'  '  hitlier  and  yon,'  '  tliis  way  and 
that.'     So,  'Napoleon  the  Little,'  'Prince  and  Peasant.' 

Alliteration^  a  favorite  poetic  fancy,  is  found  in  such 
phrases  as,  '  tit  for  tat,'  '  blind  as  a  bat,'  '  spick  and  span,' 
'the  seven  senses,'  'neck  or  nothing,'  '  rough  and  ready.' 

Onomafopa'ia  has  given  rise  to  such  words  as  tvhiz,  buzz, 
chickadee,  bobolink,  and  countless  others.  INIany  of  them 
are  humorous,  and  not  a  few  are  slangy. 

Irony  appears  in  'a  pretty  how-d'ye-do!  '  'Here's  rich- 
ness! '  and  other  colloquialisms.  Horace's  'splendide 
mendax '  is  called  a  poetical  oxymoron,  but  such  phrases 
as  '  a  magnificent  failure,'  '  a  beautiful  imbroglio,'  '  to  swim 
like  a  stone,'  show  the  same  figure,  —  the  joining  of  two 
inconsistent  words  to  produce  a  peculiar  rhetorical  effect. 

Catachresis,  as  it  is  called  by  the  pedantic  grammarians, 
—  that  is,  an  'abuse'  of  language  consisting  in  the  em- 
ployment of  a  harsh  metaphor,  —  is  not  peculiar  to  the 
poets.  A  well-known  writer  has  ventured  '  He  spasmed  to 
him,'  to  express  the  act  of  a  boy  making  signs  to  another 
by  contortion  of  the  face.  This  is  not  likely  to  become 
good  English,  but  it  might  easily  become  slang,  and  '  mis- 


LANGUAGE  IS  POETRY  17 

uses  of  language '  quite  as  extraordinary  have  often  made 
their  way  into  our  vocabukiry.  'To  jockey  a  contiding 
partner '  is  an  example.  A  chaiish  is  a  Turkish  official 
interpreter;  in  1609,  a  particular  chaush  is  said  to  have 
distinguished  himself  by  swindling  a  number  of  merchants 
in  London;  hence  chouse  for  'defraud,' — a  sufficiently 
good  instance  of  catachrcsis  in  its  origin. 

Litotes,  or  understatement,  is  found  in  all  languages,  but 
is  heard  particularly  in  New  England  provincialisms,  as 
well  as  in  slang.  It  comes  partly  from  euphemism,  and 
partly  from  caution  or  hesitation.  Thus  we  have  '  the 
late  unpleasantness '  for  the  Civil  War,  '  no  conjuror '  for 
a  stupid  person,  '  pretty  well '  and  '  so-so '  for  '  in  good 
health.'     The  sarcastic  rather !  may  be  compared. 

Periphrasis,  like  litotes,  is  a  favorite  means  of  avoiding 
plain  language:  'he  came  to  grief,'  'I  hope  nothing  will 
happen  to  him,'  '  I  am  inclined  to  think  your  accounts  are 
not  very  accurate,'  will  serve  as  examples. 

Pleonasm,  or  the  practice  of  saying  the  same  thing  twice 
over  in  the  same  expression,  is  a  universal  characteristic 
of  speech:  as,  'go  back  again,'  'reared  up,'  'go  away 
from  here,'  '  he  fell  down  and  jumped  up  again.'  Exces- 
sive pleonasm  is  of  course  objectionable,  but  it  is  idle  for 
the  purist  to  object  to  such  idiomatic  phrases  as  those 
which  we  have  just  cited.  They  are  of  the  very  fibre  of 
language.  As  Avell  complain  of  '  John !  John !  '  or  '  no!  no!  ' 
on  the  ground  that  one  John  or  one  no  would  suffice.  The 
double  comparative  Qmost  unkindest  cut  of  all'),  formerly 
in  good  use,  is  an  excellent  example  of  pleonasm. ^  The  same 
tendency  may  l)e  seen  in  such  compounds  as  inexsuperabilis. 

1  Many  forms  which  appear  to  be  units  are  really  instances  of  '  double 
comparison.''  Tims  nearer  is  vear  (comparative  of  niyh)  witii  a  compara- 
tive suffix  -or  added.     Similarly  farther,  nethermost,  uppermost,  and  30 

c 


18  WORDS  AND   THEIU    WAYS 

Thus  we  have  subjected  the  principle  that  '  Language  is 
poetry '  to  a  variety  of  tests.  We  have  compared  specific 
passages  of  poetry  with  ordinary  phraseology,  and  have 
found  a  similarly  metaphorical  character  in  both.  We 
have  observed  the  imaginative  nature  of  the  development 
of  many  meanings  from  a  simple  root-idea.  We  have 
recoo-nized  the  existence  of  many  so-called  'figures  of 
speech'  in  the  commonest  locutions  of  everyday  life. 
We  may  feel  certain,  therefore,  that  the  principle  is  a 
sound  one,  and  may  utilize  it  whenever  it  appears  to  be 
useful  in  our  further  study  of  English  words. 

on.  Compare  the  incorrect  furthercr  and  furtherost,  wliicli  are  simply 
examples  of  the  same  tendency  that  have  not  had  the  fortune  to  gain 
admittance  to  good  linguistic  society.    Cf .  p.  200. 


CHAPTER  III 

LEARNED    WORDS    AND    POPULAR    WORDS 

In  every  cultivated  language  there  are  two  great  classes 
of  words  which,  taken  together,  comprise  the  whole  vocabu- 
lary. First,  there  are  those  words  with  which  we  become 
acquainted  in  ordinary  conversation,  —  which  we  learn, 
that  is  to  say,  from  the  members  of  our  own  family  and 
from  our  familiar  associates,  and  which  we  should  know 
and  use  even  if  we  could  not  read  or  write.  They  con- 
cern the  common  things  of  life,  and  are  the  stock  in  trade 
of  all  Avho  speak  tlie  language.  Such  words  may  be 
called  '  popular,'  since  they  belong  to  the  people  at  large 
and  are  not  the  exclusive  possession  of  a  limited  class- 
On  the  other  hand,  our  lanofuaere  includes  a  multitude 
of  words  which  are  comparatively  seldom  used  in  ordinar}"- 
conversation.  Tlieir  meanings  are  known  to  every  edu- 
cated person,  but  there  is  little  occasion  to  employ  them 
at  home  or  in  the  market-place.  Our  first  acquaintance 
with  them  comes  not  from  our  mother's  lips  or  from  the 
talk  of  our  schoolmates,  but  from  books  that  we  read, 
lectures  that  we  hear,  or  the  more  formal  conversation 
of  highly  educated  speakers,  who  are  discussing  some 
particular  topic  in  a  style  appropriately  elevated  above 
the  habitual  level  of  everyday  life.  Such  words  are 
called  '  learned,'  and  the  distinction  between  them  and 
'popular'  words  is  of  great  importance  to  a  right  under- 
standing of  linguistic  process. 

19 


s 


20  WORDS   AND    TTIETn    WAYS 

The  difference  between  popular  and  learned  words  may 
be  easily  seen  in  a  few  examples.  We  may  describe  a  girl 
as  'lively'  or  as  'vivacious.'  In  the  first  case,  we  are 
using  a  native  English  formation  from  the  familiar  noun 
life.  In  the  latter,  we  are  using  a  Latin  derivative  which 
has  precisely  the  same  meaning.  Yet  the  atmosphere  of 
the  two  words  is  quite  different.  No  one  ever  got  the 
adjective  lively  out  of  a  book.  It  is  a  part  of  everybody't 
vocabulary.  We  cannot  remember  a  time  when  we  did 
not  know  it,  and  we  feel  sure  that  we  learned  it  lonL"" 
before  we  were  able  to  read.  On  the  other  hand,  we  must 
have  passed  several  years  of  our  lives  before  learning  the 
word  vivacious.  We  may  even  remember  the  first  time 
that  we  saw  it  in  print  or  heard  it  from  some  grown-up 
friend  who  was  talking  over  our  childish  heads.  Both 
lively  and  vivacious  arc  good  English  words,  but  lively  is 
'popular'  and  vivacious  is  'learned.' 

From  the  same  point  of  view  we  may  contrast  the  fol- 
lowing pairs  of  synonyms:  i  the  same,  identical;  speedy 
oration ;  fire,  conflagration;  choose,  select;  brave,  valorous; 
swallowiny,  deglutition  ;  striking,  percussion  ;  huilding,  edi- 
fice ;  shady,  umbrageous;  pucker y,  astringent;  learned, 
erudite;  secret,  cryptic;  destroy,  annihilate;  stiff,  rigid; 
flabby,  flaccid ;  queer,  eccentric;  behead,  decapitate ;  round, 
circular;  thin,  emaciated;  fat,  corpulent;  truthful,  ve- 
racious; try,  endeavor;  hit,  modicum;  piece,  fragment; 
sharp),  acute;  crazy,  maniacal;  king,  sovereign ;  book,  volume; 
lying,  mendacious  ;  beggar,  mendicant ;  teacher,  instructor; 
play,  drama  ;  air,  atmosphere  ;  paint,  pigment. 

The  terms  'popular'  and  'learned,'  as  applied  to  words, 
are  not  absolute    definitions.      No  two  persons  have  the 

1  Not  all  the  words  are  exact  synonyms,  but  that  is  of  no  importance  in 
the  present  discussion. 


LEARNED    WORDS   AND    POPULAR    WORDS  21 

same  stock  of  words,  and  the  same  word  may  be  '  popular ' 
in  one  man's  vocabulary  and  'learned'  in  another's.^ 
There  are  also  different  grades  of  'popularity';  indeed 
there  is  in  reality  a  continuous  gradation  from  infantile 
words  like  mamma  and  papa  to  such  erudite  derivatives 
as  eoncatenation  and  cataclysm.  Still,  the  division  into 
'learned'  and  'popular'  is  convenient  and  sound.  Dis- 
putes may  arise  as  to  the  classification  of  any  particular 
v/ord,  but  there  can  be  no  difference  of  opinion  about  the 
general  principle.  We  must  be  careful,  however,  to  avoid 
misconception.  When  we  call  a  word  'popular,'  we  do 
not  mean  that  it  is  a  favorite  word,  but  simply  that  it  be- 
longs to  the  people  as  a  whole,  — -  that  is,  it  is  everybody's 
word,  not  the  possession  of  a  limited  number.  When  we 
call  a  word  '  learned,'  we  do  not  mean  that  it  is  used  by 
scholars  alone,  but  simply  that  its  presence  in  the  English 
vocabulary  is  due  to  books  and  the  cultivation  of  literature 
rather  than  to  the  actual  needs  of  ordinary  conversation. 

Here  is  one  of  the  main  differences  betw^eeu  a  cultivated 
and  an  uncultivated  language.  Both  possess  a  large  stock 
of  '  popular '  words ;  but  the  cultivated  language  is  also 
rich  in  'learned'  words,  with  which  the  ruder  tongue  has 
not  provided  itself,  simply  because  it  has  never  felt  the 
need  of  them. 

In  English  it  will  usually  be  found  that  the  so-called 
learned  words  are  of  foreign  origin.  Most  of  them  are 
derived  from  French  or  Latin,  and  a  considerable  number 
from  Greek.     The  reason  is  obvious.     The  development 

^It  is  instructive  to  study  one's  own  vocabulary  from  this  point  of 
vievv',  —  making  a  list  of  (1)  those  words  which  we  feel  sure  we  learned 
in  childhood,  (2)  those  which  we  have  learned  in  later  life,  but  not  from 
books,  (o)  those  which  have  entered  our  vocabulary  from  books.  We 
shall  also  find  it  useful  to  consider  the  difference  between  our  reading 
vocabulary  and  our  speaking  vocabulary. 


22  WORDS  AND    TTIEin    WAYS 

of  English  literature  has  not  been  isolated,  but  has  taken 
place  in  close  connection  with  the  earnest  study  of  foreign 
literatures.  Thus,  in  the  fourteenth  century,  when  our 
language  was  assuming  substantially  the  shape  which  it 
now  bears,  the  literary  exponent  of  English  life  and 
thought,  Geoffrey  Chaucer,  the  first  of  our  great  poets, 
was  profoundly  influenced  by  Latin  literature  as  well 
as  by  that  of  France  and  Italy,  In  the  sixteenth  and 
seventeenth  centuries,  the  Greek  and  Latin  classics  were 
vigorously  studied  by  almost  every  English  writer  of  any 
consequence,  and  the  great  authors  of  antiquity  were 
regarded  as  models,  not  merely  of  general  literary  form, 
but  of  expression  in  all  its  details.  These  foreign  influ- 
ences have  varied  much  in  character  and  intensity.  But 
it  is  safe  to  say  that  there  has  been  no  time  since  1350 
when  English  writers  of  the  highest  class  have  not  looked 
to  Latin,  French,  and  Italian  authors  for  guidance  and 
inspiration.  From  IGOO  to  the  present  day  the  direct 
influence  of  Greek  literature  and  philosophy  has  also 
been  enormous,  —  affecting  as  it  has  the  finest  spirits  in 
a  peculiarly  pervasive  way,  —  and  its  indirect  influence  is 
quite  beyond  calculation.  Greek  civilization,  we  should 
remember,  has  acted  upon  us,  not  merely  through  Greek 
literature  and  art,  but  also  through  the  medium  of  Latin, 
since  the  Romans  borrowed  their  higher  culture  from 
Greece. 

Now  certain  facts  in  the  history  of  our  language  have 
made  it  peculiarly  inclined  to  borrow  from  French  and 
Latin.  The  Norman  Conquest  in  the  eleventh  century 
made  French  the  language  of  polite  society  in  England  ; 
and,  long  after  the  contact  between  Norman-French  and 
English  had  ceased  to  be  of  direct  siernificance  in  our  lin- 
guistic  develoj)ment,  the  reading  and  speaking  of  French 


LEARNED    WORDS   AND   POPULAR    WORDS  23 

and  the  study  of  French  literature  formed  an  important 
part  of  the  education  of  English-speaking  men  and  women. 
When  literary  English  was  in  process  of  formation  in  the 
fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries,  the  authors  whose  works 
determined  the  cultivated  vocabulary  were  almost  as  famil- 
iar with  B^-ench  as  with  their  mother  tongue,  and  it  was 
therefore  natural  that  they  should  borrow  a  good  many 
French  words.  But  these  same  authors  were  also  familiar 
with  Latin,  which,  though  called  a  dead  language,  has 
always  been  t"he  professional  dialect  of  ecclesiastics  and  a 
lingua  franca  for  educated  men.  Thus  the  borrowing  from 
French  and  from  Latin  went  on  side  by  side,  and  it  is  often 
impossible  to  say  from  which  of  the  two  languages  a  par- 
ticular English  word  is  taken.  The  practice  of  naturaliz- 
ing French  and  Latin  words  was,  then,  firmly  established 
in  the  fourteenth  century,  and  when,  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  there  was  a  great  revival  of  Greek  studies  in 
England,  the  close  literary  relations  between  Greece  and 
Rome  facilitated  the  adoption  of  a  considerable  number 
of  words  from  the  Greek.  Linguistic  processes  are  cumu- 
lative :  one  does  not  stop  when  another  begins.  Hence 
we  find  all  of  these  influences  active  in  increasing  the 
modern  vocabulary.  In  particular,  the  language  of  sci- 
ence has  looked  to  Greece  for  its  terms,  as  the  language 
of  abstract  thought  has  drawn  its  nomenclature  from 
Latin. 

It  would,  however,  be  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that 
all  our  '  popular '  terms  are  of  native  origin,  and  that  all 
foreign  derivatives  are  'learned.'  The  younger  and  less 
cultivated  members  of  a  community  are  naturally  inclined 
to  imitate  the  speech  of  the  older  and  more  cultivated. 
Hence,  as  time  has  passed,  a  great  number  of  French  and 
Latin  words,  and  even  some  that  are  derived  from  the 


24  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

Greek,  have  made  themselves  quite  at  home  in  ordinary 
conversation.  Such  words,  whatever  their  origin,  are  as 
truly  popular  as  if  they  had  been  a  part  of  our  language 
from  the  earliest  period. 

Examples  of  such  popular  ^  words  of  foreign  derivation 
are  the  following  :  — 

From  French  :  army^  arrest^  hay-,  card^  catch,  city,  chase, 
chimney,  conveyance,  deceive,  entry,  engine,  forge,  hour,  let- 
ter, mantle,  mason,  merchant,  manner,  mountain,  maj),  move, 
navy,  prince,  pen,  pencil,  parlor,  river,  rage,  soldier,  second, 
table,  veil,  village. 

From  Latin  :  accommodate,  act,  add,  adopt,  animal, 
anxious,  applause,  arbitrate,  auction,  ageyit,  calculate,  cancer, 
circus,  collapse,  collision,  column,  congress,  connect,  conse- 
quence, contract,  contradict,  correct,  creation,  cucumber, 
curve,  ceyitennial,  decorate,  delicate,  deyitist,  describe,  diary, 
diffident,  different,  digest,  direct,  discuss,  divide,  educate, 
elect,  emigrant,  equal,  erect,  expect,  extra,  fact,  genius,  genu- 
ine, graduate,  gratis,  horrid,  imitate,  item,  joke,  ju7ictioti, 
junior,  major,  ynagnificent,  medicine,  medium,  miser,  obsti- 
nate, omit,  pagayi,  pastor,  pauper,  pedal,  pendulum,  permit, 
picture,  jilague,  postpojie,  premium,  prevent,  prospect,  pro- 
tect, quiet,  recess,  recipe,  reduce,  regular,  salute,  secure, 
series,  single,  species,  specimeii,  splendid,  strict,  student, 
subscribe,  subtract,  suburb,  suffocate,  suggest,  tedious,  tiinid, 
urge,  vaccinate,  various,  ventilation,  vest,  veto,  victor,  vim, 
vote. 

From  Greek :  anthracite,  apathy,  arsenic,  aster,  athlete, 
atlas,  attic,  barometer,  biography,  calomel,  catarrli,  catholic, 
catastrop)he,  catechism,  caustic,  chemist,  crisis,  dialogue, 
diphtheria,  elastic,  encyclopedia,  hector,  homeopathy,  iodine, 
lexicon,    microscope,    monotonous,    myth,    neuralgia,    pariic, 

1  The  exact  grade  of  '  popularity'  differs  in  these  examples  (see  p.  21). 


LEARNED    WORDS  AND   POPULAR    WORDS  25 

panorama,  jyJiotop'aph,  skeleton,  stryclinine^  tactics^  telegraph, 
tonic,  zoology. 

No  language  can  borrow  extensively  from  foreign 
sources  without  losing  a  good  many  words  of  its  own. 
Hence,  if  we  compare  the  oldest  form  of  English  (Anglo- 
Saxon)  with  our  modern  speech,  we  shall  discover  that 
many  words  that  were  common  in  Anglo-Saxon  have  gone 
quite  out  of  use,  being  replaced  by  their  foreign  equiva- 
lents. The  '  learned  '  word  has  driven  out  the  '  popular ' 
word,  and  has  thereupon,  in  many  cases,  become  '  popular ' 
itself.  Thus  instead  of  A.S.  here  \yq  use  the  French  word 
army  ;  instead  of  thegn  or  theow,  the  French  word  servant; 
instead  of  sciphere  (a  compound  of  the  Anglia-Saxon  word 
for  ship  and  that  for  army^,  we  use  navy;  instead  of 
micel,  we  say  large;  instead  of  sige,  victory;  instead  of 
swlthe,  very ;  instead  of  Idf.  we  say  remainder  or  remnant, 
—  and  so  on. 

Curiously  enough,  it  sometimes  happens  that  when  both 
the  native  and  the  foreign  word  still  have  a  place  in  our 
language,  the  latter  has  become  the  more  popular,  —  the 
former  being  relegated  to  the  higher  or  poetical  style. 
Thus  it  is  more  natural  for  us  to  say  divide  (from  L. 
divido^  than  cleave  (from  A.S.  cleofan);  travel  than  fare;  ^ 
river  than  stream;  castle  than  burg;  residence  than  dwell- 
ing; remain  than  abide;  exjject  than  ween;  pupil  or  scholar 
than  learner;  destruction  than  bale;  protect  or  defend  than 
shield;  immediately  than  straightivay ;  encourage  than 
hearten;  present  than  bestow;  firm  than  steadfast;  direct 
th-c\n  foi'tliright;  impetuous  than  heady;  modest  than  shame- 
faced; j^rince  than  atheling ;  noise  or  tumult  or  disturbance 
than  din;  p)eople  than  folk  ;'^  p>rophet  than  soothsayer;  fate 

^  Fare  is  still  common  as  a  noun  and  in  figurative  senses. 
■^  But  the  irregular  plural  folks  is  a  common  colloquialism. 


26  WOIWS   AND   THEIR    WAYS 

than  iveird;  lancer  than  spearman;  I  intend  than  /  am 
minded;  excavate  than  delve;  resist  than  ivithstand ;  beau- 
tiful than  goodly ;  gracious  than  kindly.  The  very  fact 
that  the  native  words  belong  to  tlie  older  stock  lias  made 
them  poetical  ;  for  the  language  of  poetry  is  always  more 
archaic  than  that  of  prose. 

Frequently  we  have  kept  both  the  native  and  the  for- 
eign word,  but  in  different  senses,  thus  increasing  our 
vocabulary  to  good  purpose.  The  foreign  word  may  be 
.  more  emphatic  than  the  native  :  as  in  brilliant.,  bright; 
scintillate^  sparkle;  astonishment,  ivonder;  a  conflagration., 
a  fire;  devour.,  eat  up;  labor.,  work.  Or  the  native  word 
may  be  more'  emphatic  than  the  foreign  :  as  in  stench., 
odor;  straightforward,  direct;  dead,  deceased;  murder, 
homicide.  Often,  however,  there  is  a  wide  distinction  in 
meaning.  Thus  driver  differs  from  propeller;  child  from 
infant;  history  from  tale;  book  from  volume;  forehead 
from  front;  length  from  longitude ;  moony  from  lunar; 
simny  from  solar;  nightly  from  noctui'nal ;  churl  from 
villain;  wretch  from  miser;  poor  ynan  from  pauper;  run 
across  from  occur;  run,  into  from  incur;  fight  from  debate. 

From  time  to  time  attempts  have  been  made  to  oust 
foreign  words  from  our  vocabulary  and  to  replace  them  by 
native  words  that  have  become  either  obsolete  or  less 
usual  (that  is  to  say,  less  popular).  Whimsical  theorists 
have  even  set  up  the  principle  that  no  word  of  foreign 
origin  should  be  employed  when  a  native  word  of  the 
same  meaning  exists.  In  English,  however,  all  such 
efforts  are  predestined  to  failure.  They  result,  not  in  a 
simpler  and  more  natural  style,  but  in  something  unfamiliar, 
fantastic,  and  affected.  Foreign  words  that  have  long  been 
in  common  use  are  just  as  much  English  as  if  they  had 
been  a  part  of  our  language  from  the  beginning.     There 


LEARNED    WORDS  AND   POPULAR    WORDS  27 

is  no  rational  theory  on  which  they  shoukl  be  shnnned. 
It  would  be  just  as  reasonable  for  an  Englishman  whose 
ancestors  had  lived  in  the  island  ever  since  the  time  of 
King  Alfred,  to  disown  as  his  countrymen  the  descendants 
of  a  Frenchman  or  a  German  who  settled  there  three 
hundred  years  ago.  The  test  of  the  learned  or  the 
popular  character  of  a  word  is  not  its  etymology,  but  the 
facts  relating  to  its  habitual  employment  by  plain  speakers. 
Nor  is  there  any  principle  on  wliich,  of  two  expressions, 
that  which  is  popular  should  be  preferred  to  that  which  is 
learned  or  less  familiar.  The  sole  criterion  of  choice 
consists  in  the  appropriateness  of  one's  language  to  the 
subject  or  the  occasion.  It  would  be  ridiculous  to  address 
a  crowd  of  soldiers  in  the  same  language  that  one  would 
employ  in  a  council  of  war.  It  would  be  no  less  ridiculous 
to  harangue  an  assembly  of  generals  as  if  they  were  a 
regiment  on  the  eve  of  battle.  The  reaction  against  the 
excessive  Latinization  of  English  is  a  wholesome  tendency, 
but  it  becomes  a  mere  'fad'  when  it  is  carried  out  in  a 
doctrinaire  manner.     As  Chaucer  declares  :  — 

Ek  Plato  seith,  whoso  that  can  him  rede, 
'The  wordes  mot  be  cosin  to  the  dede.' 

Every  educated  person  has  at  least  two  ways  of  speaking 
his  mother  tongue.  The  first  is  that  which  he  employs  in 
his  family,  among  his  familiar  friends,  and  on  ordinary 
occasions.  The  second  is  that  which  he  uses  in  discoursing 
on  more  complicated  subjects,  and  in  addressing  persons 
with  whom  he  is  less  intimately  acquainted.  It  is,  in 
short,  the  language  which  he  employs  when  he  is  'on  his 
dignity,'  as  he  puts  on  evening  dress  when  he  is  going  to 
dine.  The  difference  between  these  two  forms  of  language 
consists,  in  great  measure,  in  a  difference  of  vocabulary. 


28  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

The  basis  of  familiar  words  must  be  the  same  in  both,  but 
the  vocabuhxry  appropriate  to  the  more  formal  occasion 
will  include  many  terms  which  would  be  stilted  or  affected 
in  ordinary  talk.  There  is  also  considerable  difference 
between  familiar  and  dignified  language  in  the  manner 
of  utterance.  Contrast  the  rapid  utterance  of  our  every- 
day dialect,  full  of  contractions  and  clipped  forms,  with 
the  more  distinct  enunciation  of  the  pulpit  or  the  platform. 
Thus,  in  conversation,  we  habitually  employ  such  contrac- 
tions as  Til,  don't,  ivo7it,  ifs,  ived,  he'd,  and  the  like,  which 
we  should  never  use  in  public  speaking,  unless  of  set  pur- 
pose, to  give  a  markedly  colloquial  tinge  to  what  we  have 
to  say. 


CHAPTER   IV 

LEARNED    WORDS    CECOIME   POrULAR 

The  true  distinction  between  a  'learned'  and  a  'popular' 
word  depends,  as  we  have  seen,  not  upon  etymology  but 
upon  usage.  It  makes  no  difference  how  or  where  a  word 
originated:  it  is  popular  if  it  is  in  common  use  among  plain 
speakers  and  is  not  felt  by  them  as  a  'big  word.'  Thus 
coyitradict.,  arbitrate,  and  photograph  were  all  three  learned 
words  in  their  origin,  yet  are  now  distinctly  popular.  Con- 
tradict (L.  contradictus,  from  contra-,  'against,'  and  dicer<\ 
'to  say')  has  forced  out  of  common  nse  two  native  words 
ivithsay  and  gainsay,  both  of  them  originally  popular,  so 
that  ivithsay  has  become  obsolete  and  gainsay  is  learned. 
The  reason  for  this  extraordinary  shift  is  apparently  the" 
use  of  the  learned  word  in  giving  instructions  to  young 
children:  'You  mustn't  contradict  people'  is  a  very  early 
lesson  in  manners.  With  arbitrate  the  case  is  different. 
Tliis  word  has  gained  such  currency  in  the  labor  discus- 
sions of  the  last  few  years  that  it  is  as  familiar  to  every 
workman  as  wages  or  strike.  Hence  it  is  a  popular  word, 
though,  like  contradict,  it  had  a  learned  origin  (L.  arbitra- 
tus,  participle  of  arbitror,  from  arbiter,  'judge').  Observe 
that  arbiter  is  still  learned,  though  arbitrate  and  arbitration 
are  popular.^  The  tliird  ey^axn^Ae, photograph,  differs  from 
the  other  two  in  its  origin.  At  the  outset,  it  was,  if 
possible,  even  more  learned  than  contradict  and  arbitrate, 

'  Tlie  practice  of  intcrnationnl  arbitration  has  also  helped  to  make  the 
words  familiar. 

29 


30  WOEDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

being  a  term  deliberately  manufactured  from  the  Greek 
to  describe  a  highly  technical  process.  It  is  put  together 
from  2^^ioto-  (supposed  stem  of  ^W9,  phos,  the  Greek  for 
'light,'  seen  in  phos-phorus,  'light-bearer')  and  -graph,  a 
clipped  form  of  the  Greek  verb  <ypd(}>€iv  (^(jrdphein),  'to 
write.'  If  the  process  had  remained  a  matter  of  scientific 
curiosity,  the  word  pliotograpli  would  have  remained  as 
learned  as,  for  example,  cryptograph,  —  but  it  became  the 
commonest  way  of  '  taking  one's  picture,'  and  hence  the 
word  is  known  to  every  child. ^ 

These  three  examples  show  how  varied  are  the  causes 
which  bring  learned  terms  into  the  popular  category. 
Scientific  or  technical  words  afford  the  clearest  illustra- 
tion of  the  process,  since  they  are  obviously  learned  in 
origin  and  often  become,  as  knowledge  spreads,  the  com- 
mon property  of  all  but  the  most  ignorant  speakers.  If 
the  progress  of  science  makes  the  terms  in  question  obso- 
lete as  a  part  of  the  technical  vocabular}',  their  learned 
origin  may  be  utterly  forgotten,  and  they  may  become 
popular  in  the  strictest  sense.  This  is  strikingly  exempli- 
fied in  a  number  of  words  whose  history  is  so  interesting 
that  it  must  be  given  in  some  detail. 

Ancient  physiology  divided  the  human  body  into  solids, 
liquids,  and  what  may  be  called  aeriform  substances.  Of 
liquids  there  were  thought  to  be  four :  Mood,  phlegm,  bile, 
and  black  bile  or  melancholy.  Three  of  these  we  recog- 
nize as  matters  of  fact;  but  the  fourth,  the  'black  bile,' 
was  purely  imaginary.  These  four  liquids  were  known 
as  humors  (humor  he\ng  the  Latin  word  for  'liquid'),  and 
good  health  was  thought  to  depend  on  the  maintenance  of 

1  Compare  tdefjraph  (Gr.  TrfKe,  'far'),  a  similarly  learned  formation 
that  has  become  almost  equally  popular.  Phonograph  (Gr.  (punri  '  sound ') 
is  pretty  well  known.      Telephone  (r^Xe  and  (pwvri)  is  entirely  popular. 


LEAIiNED    WORDS   BECOME  POPULAR  31 

a  just  proportion  among  them.  This  balance  or  commix- 
ture of  the  humors  was  known  as  a  man's  temperament, 
that  is,  his  '  mixture  '  (L.  tempero, '  to  mix  '),  or  as  his  com- 
plexion (from  a  Latin  word  meaning  '  combination,' 
derived  from  com-,  'together,'  and  plecto,  'to  weave'). 
Thus  if  a  man  had  more  blood  than  any  other  humor  in 
his  system,  he  was  said  to  be  of  a  sanguine  temperament  or 
complexion  (L.  sanguis,  'blood')  ;  if  more  bile,  of  a  bilious 
temperament  or  complexion ;  if  more  phlegm,  of  a  p>1ileg- 
matic  temperament ;  if  more  melancholy  (or  black  bile),  of 
a  melancholg  temperament.  If  the  temperament,  or  bal- 
ance of  the  humors,  was  greatly  disturbed,  the  result  was 
distemper,  that  is,  a  'variance  from  the  proper  mixture.' 
Saturnine,  jovial  (from  Jove'),  and  mercurial,  as  names  for 
different  temperaments  or  moods,  preserve  a  faint  echo  of 
the  old  belief  that  the  planets  govern  our  physical  and 
moral  constitutions.  We  may  compare  lunatic,  '  influenced 
by  the  moon  (luiia),''  hence  'insane.' 

All  this  science  is  dead  and  buried,  as  science,  but  it 
still  survives  in  popular  language,  in  which  we  constantly 
use  the  old  terms  to  describe  different  kinds  of  men  or 
different  states  of  the  mind  or  body.  Thus  a  man  may 
still  be  '  good-humored '  or  '  in  bad  humor,'  and  we  still 
speak  of  his  mental  or  bodily  disposition  as  his  '  tempera- 
ment.' When  we  call  a  person  'sanguine,'  we  revert, 
without  knowing  it,  to  the  old  medical  theory  tliat  a  pre- 
ponderance of  l)lood  in  the  temperament  made  one  hopeful. 
Similarly,  we  call  a  man  '  melancholy '  or  '  phlegmatic,' 
thousrh  we  do  not  remember  that  the  ideas  which  we 
attach  to  these  words  go  back  to  obsolete  physiology. ^ 

1  MdancJioly,  the  imaginary  fourtli  humor,  has  kept  its  name  alive  in 
medical  science  in  mdancJiolin,  a  kind  of  madness  once  thought  to  come 
from  an  excess  of  '  black  bile '  in  the  system. 


32  WORDS   AND    THEIR    WAYS 

Complexion  has  a  particularly  curious  history.  Origi- 
nally, as  we  have  seen,  it  was  a  medical  term  synonymous 
with  temperament.  Since,  however,  the  preponderance  of 
one  or  another  humor  was  supposed  to  manifest  itself  in 
the  color  and  texture  of  one's  face,  complexio7i  soon 
received  the  meaning^  which  we  now  attach  to  it.  Thus 
a  learned  and  strictly  technical  term,  of  Latin  origin,  has 
been  rejected  from  the  vocabulary  of  science  and  become 
purely  'popular.'  We  have  also  preserved  distemper., 
specializing  it  to  diseases  of  animals,  —  as  in  '  the  cattle 
distemper.' 

Temper.,  however,  which  was  a  synonym  of  temperament., 
has  taken  a  different  course.  We  use  it  vaguely  for  '  dis- 
position,' but  commonly  associate  it  in  some  way  with 
'irascibility.'  'Keep  your  temper^  'he  lost  his  temper^ 
'  \SS.-tempered^  show  a  trace  of  the  old  meaning ;  but 
the  colloquial  'What  a  temper'^  he  has,'  'He  is  in  such 
a  temper! '  would  never  be  referred  to  physiological 
science  by  one  who  did  not  know  the  history  of  the 
word. 

But  we  are  not  yet  done  Avith  the  history  of  the  word 
humor.  A  diseased  condition  of  any  one  of  the  four 
humors  might  manifest  itself  as  an  eruption  on  the  skin  ; 
hence  such  an  eruption  is  still  called  a  humor  in  common 
language.  Again,  an  excess  of  one  of  the  humors  might 
make  a  man  odd  or  fantastic  in  his  speech  and  actions. 
Thus    humorous    took    the   meaning    'eccentric/-'^    and    a 

J  By  a  process  of  specialization  (see  p.  265). 

2  That  is,  'what  a  bad  temper,'  the  modifying  adjective  idea  remaining, 
though  no  adjective  is  used.  This  kind  of  quasi-ellipsis  is  a  common 
cause  of  specialization  of  meaning  in  words  (see  pp.  2')2-.S). 

^Eccentric  means  literally  'deviating  from  the  centre'  or  'having  a 
different  centre'  (G.  (k,  'from'  and  Kivrpov,  whence  L.  centrum, 
'  centre ' ) . 


LEARNED    WORDS  BECOME  POPULAR  33 

'■humorous  man'  was  what  we  call,  in  modern  slang,  'a 
crank.''  The  'comedy  of  humors,'  of  which  Ben  Jonson 
is  the  best  exponent,  found  material  in  caricaturing  such 
eccentric  persons.  From  this  sense,  hiwior  had  an  easy 
development  to  that  of  'a  keen  perception  of  the  odd  or 
incongruous,'  and  we  thus  arrive  at  the  regular  modern 
meaning  of  the  word.  It  is  certainly  a  long  way  from 
humor  in  the  literal  sense  of  '  liquid '  or  '  moisture '  to 
humor  in  the  sense  in  which  that  quality  is  so  often  asso- 
ciated with  wit. 

Finally,  the  old  physiology,  as  we  have  seen,  ascribed  to 
the  human  system  certain  volatile  or  aeriform  substances, 
whi^h  were  believed  to  pass  through  the  arteries  and  to 
be  of  primary  importance  in  all  the  processes  of  life. 
These  were  called  sinrits^  (L.  spiritus,  'breath'  or  'air'), 
and  they  fell  into  three  classes,  the  natural,  the  vital,  and 
the  animal  spirits.  It  is  in  unconscious  obedience  to  this 
superannuated  science  that  we  use  such  words  and  phrases 
as  'in  high  (low,  good,  bad)  spirits,^  high-spirited,  loiv- 
spirited,  '  a  spirited  horse,'  '  a  spiritless  performance,'  and 
that  we  speak  of  one  who  is  spontaneously  merry  as 
having  'a  great  flow  of  animal  spirits.'' 

The  dead  science  of  astrology  has  also  bequeathed  to  us 
a  number  of  interesting  terms, — once  severely  technical, 
now  for  the  most  part  commonplace  enough.  Disaster  is 
'bad  star'  ( L.  dis-,  'away  from,'  'contrary,'  and  astrum, 
'star';  cf.  a.^iter,  'the  star-flower,'  asteroid,  'little  star,'  and 
astro-logy  itself).  'This  business  has  an  evil  aspect''  is  a 
similar  figure.  The  aspect  of  the  heavens  is  the  way  in 
which  the  planets  look  at  each  other  and  at  the  earth 
(L.    aspectus,   'looking  at,'   'glance').      Influe'nce   is   the 

iNot  to  be  confounded  with  the  rehgious  and  theological  senses  of 
spirit,  which  are  many. 


34  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

'  in-flowing '  (L.  fluo,  '  flow ')  of  planetary  power  upon  the 
fortunes  of  men.  Otlier  astrological  terms  are  predomi- 
nant  (said  of  a  planet  more  powerful  than  the  rest  at  a 
given  moment), '  his  star  is  in  the  ascendant,'  and  horoscojje; 
but  these  are  less  familiar,  and  the  last-mentioned  is  still 
technical.  Compare  also  '  born  under  a  lucky  star,''  and 
the  trivial  oath  'my  stars/'  which  has  been  humorously 
extended  to  'my  stars  and  garters!'  as  if  the  allusion 
were  to  the  insiacnia  of  the  Order  of  the  Garter,  which 
include  an  eight-pointed  star  encircling  the  figure  of 
St.  George.^ 

In  the  same  way,  even  the  most  abstruse  philosophy 
has  contributed  familiar  words  to  our  common  stock. 
About  the  middle  of  the  fourth  century  before  Christ, 
when  the  world  had  been  inundated  with  a  flood  of  new 
ideas  for  some  three  hundred  years,  — a  period  of  such  in- 
tellectual activity  as  mankind  had  never  seen,  —  it  occurred 
to  Aristotle,  in  his  matchless  peripatetic  lectures,  to  want 
short  words  for  the  general  philosophic  ideas  of  the 
'  nature '  and  '  magnitude  '  of  any  individual  thing.  He 
found  in  the  Greek  language  the  words  ttoZo?  and  iroao^ 
(^poios  ixud  p<^so8'),  'of  what  sort?'  and  'how  great?'  ready 
to  his  hand,  but  no  one  had  ever  before  needed  abstract 
terms  for  these  ideas.  ^  So,  by  means  of  derivative  endings 
existing  in  our  family  of  languages,  he  boldly  formed 
'TTOLorrj'i  (^poiofes'),  and  iroaoTrj'i  (posdtes'),  which  mnst  have 
appeared  to  tlie  Greek  purist  of  his  time  as  strange  and 
uncouth  as  of-u'hat-sort-ness  and  lioiv-much-ness  would  seem 

1  Such  elaboration  is  conuuon  in  oaths,  its  object  being  to  disguise  their 
profanity  (see  p.  304).  Justice  Shallow's  'by  cock  and  pie'  is  a  good 
example.  'By  cock'  is  (like  hy  gad,  by  gosh,  etc.)  a  mere  corruption  to 
make  the  oath  innocuous,  and  pic.  (magpie)  is  added  to  carry  out  the 
suggestion  that  cock  refers  to  a  bird.  The  suggestion  thatpze  in  this  oath 
is  the  'mass-book  '  is  unfounded.    ^  Except  Plato,  Thepet.,  182  A. 


LEARNED    WORDS  BECOME  POPULAR  35 

to  US  to-da3^^  But  they  served  liis  turn,  and  took  their 
place  in  the  technical  dialect  of  the  Greek  philosophers. 
Two  hundred  years  later,  when  Cicero  interpreted  these 
ideas  to  his  countrymen,  he  imitated  the  boldness  of 
Aristotle,  and  ventured  qualitas  (from  qualis,  'of  what 
sort?'),  a  Latin  word  of  equivalent  meaning  to  iroLorri'i 
(^poidtes)  and  similar  formation.  Still  later,  quantitas 
(from  quantus,  'Jiow  much?')  was  manufactured  as  a 
translation  of ^ttocto't?/?   (^posStes^. 

So,  in  the  course  of  linguistic  history,  these  two  Greek 
terms  for  '  how-much-ness '  and  '  of-what-sort-ness,'  in- 
vented to  supply  a  refined  philosophic  need,  have  in  the 
forms  quayitity  and  quality  become  the  common  possession 
of  every  shopman,  and  are  two  of  the  most  familiar  words 
in  the  English  language. 

Quiddity  (L.  quidditas^,  coined  by  the  mediaeval  school- 
men when  qualitas  had  lost  some  of  its  scientific  exactness, 
has  had  less  currency.  It  is  formed  from  the  interrogative 
Latin  quid,  'what?'  and  means  '  what-ness,'  'characteristic 
quality.'  Since  the  schoolmen  were  proverbial  hair-split- 
ters, quiddity  has  taken  on  the  sense  of  a  'quibble."^  We 
may  barely  mention  the  colloquial  '  He  knows  whafs 
whatf  which  seems  to  be  derived  from  the  arsfuments  of 
these  same  philosophers,  who,  having  asked  themselves 
'What  is  this  and  that?'  until  they  had  exhausted  the  list 
of  available  subtleties,  achieved  the  famous  question  '  quid 

^  Some  years  ago  a  New  England  philosopher  was  much  ridiculed  for 
using  'the  thing-ness  of  the  here'  for  'the  actuality  of  the  present.' 
There  was  nothing  absurd  in  his  coinage :  it  was  simply  minted  '  an  age 
too  late.' 

'^Compare  quillet  (from  Jj.  qnid-Uhet,  'what  you  please'),  and  qnip 
from  quipproquo  (for  quid  pro  qno),  '  repartee.'  Quibhlp,  is  thought  to  be 
a  contamination  of  quip  iuni  quillet  {or  quiddity).  The  words  all  echo 
the  jargon  of  the  schools. 


36  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WATS 

est  quid  f "      '  What  is  this  ivhat  that  we  use  so  glibly  ? ' 
Butler's  Hudibras  puts  the  matter  in  a  nutshell:  — 

Ho  knew  what's  wliat!  and  tliat's  as  liigh 
As  metaphysic  wit  can  fly. 

About  a  century  before  Aristotle's  time,  Empedocles 
had  conceived  the  universe  as  composed  of  four  sub- 
stances,—  fire  (conceived  as  material),  air,  earth,  and 
water,  to  which,  inasmuch  as  things  were  regarded  as 
made  up  of  these  as  component  parts,  just  as  letters  are 
variously  combined  into  words,  was  given  the  name  aroi'x^eia 
(^stoicheia),  'letters  of  the  alphabet.'  This  was  after- 
ward translated  into  Latin  by  the  word  elementa^  which 
also  meant  'letters,'  and  a  singular  form  elemeyitum  was 
made  to  fit  it.  The  subsequent  history  of  this  word  has 
been  most  curious.  In  English,  element  has  retained  all 
of  its  meanings.  In  the  original  sense  of  'letters  of  the 
alphabet '  we  use  elements  for  '  the  rudiments  of  learning ' 
(the  a-b-c  of  knowledge),  and  have  the  adjective  elementary. 
But  the  word  is  also  applied  to  the  four  elements,  fire, 
air,  water,  and  earth,  or  to  any  of  them  (particularly  the 
first  three):  as,  'the  fury  of  the  elements,'  for  a  storm, 
'  the  fiery  elements,'  '  out  of  its  element '  (as  of  a  fish  out 
of  water),  '  the  fiery  element,'  '  the  watery  element.'  In 
older  English  '  the  element '  often  meant  '  the  heaven,' 
'the  sky,'  —  as  in  'the  cinders  of  the  element '^  for  the 
'  stars,'  —  and  this  use  still  survives  among  the  negroes  in 
the  Southern  states.  Finally,  though  the  doctrine  in- 
volved has  lone:  ceased  to  be  consistent  with  modern 
thought,  the  word  also  retains  the  sense  of  'elements 
generally,'  '  constituent  materials,'  and  the  like,  and  has 

1  Shakspere,  Henry  IV,  Part  T,  act  iv,  scene  3,  1.  58. 


LEARNED    WORDS  BECOME  POPULAR  37 

given  such  words  as  elemental,  in  the  same  generalized 
sense. 

Now  Aristotle,  feeling  the  want  of  some  more  subtle 
material  for  the  heavens,  suspected  the  existence  of  a 
hfth  substance  {aether),  to  which  his  successors  gave  the 
name  irefxinrj  ovaia  (^jjempte  oiisia),  '  fifth  being  '  or  '  form 
of  existence,'  utilizing  the  abstract  noun  ovaia  (^ousia), 
'being,'  formed  from  mu  (om),  the  present  particle  of  elvac 
(ei7iai),'-  to  be.'  The  Romans,  not  having  the  participle  of 
esse,  nor  this  abstract  from  it,  got  along  without  the  word. 
Cicero  calls  the  aether  quintum  genus,  '  fifth  kind,'  and 
quinta  natura,  '  fifth  nature '  ;  and  Horace  loosely  uses 
quinta  pars,  '  fifth  part,'  in  alluding  to  the  doctrine. 
But  the  later  Latin  devised  a  rude  abstract  form  esse?itia 
(as  if  from  esse)  to  represent  the  idea,  and  this  in  English 
became  essence,  a  word  which,  as  well  as  quintessence  (^quinta 
essentia,  'fifth  essence  ')  as  a  kind  of  superlative,  has  had 
the  widest  currency  in  the  language  for  the  most  subtle 
component  part  of  anything,  or  that  which  makes  it  what 
it  is,  —  as  it  were,  the  '  soul '  of  a  thing. 

Thus  language  picks  out  with  almost  a  chemical  cer- 
tainty what  is  suitable  for  it,  and  any  language  at  any 
moment  is  a  naturally  selected  residuum  of  all  which  the 
human  mind  has  thought  or  conceived  ever  since  that  line 
of  civilization  began. 

In  the  fifth  century  B.C.,  there  came  to  Athens  from 
Cilicia,  the  native  country,  it  will  be  remembered,  of  Paul 
the  Apostle,  a  remarkable  man,  Zeno,  and  established  a 
school  of  philosophers,  who,  from  their  habit  of  teaching  in 
one  of  the  great  colonnades  of  Athens,  were  called  /Stoics, 
or  'philosophers  of  the  Porch.'  ^  This  sect  influenced  the 
thought  of  the  world  for  more  than  five  hundred  years, 

^  Gr.  cTTWi/tos,  I'loui  (TTod,  'roofed  colonnade.' 


38  WORDS   AND    THEIR    WAYS 

and  counted  among  its  devotees  many  of  the  grandest  souls 
of  pagan  times.  They  developed  a  marvellous  scheme  of 
the  universe,  in  which  everything  visible  and  invisible  was 
organically  connected  into  a  stupendous  unit  of  which  '  the 
Body  Nature  is  and  God  the  Soul,'  or  rather  into  a  living 
sentient  organism,  the  soul  of  which  was  the  only  God.^ 

The  speculations  of  the  Stoics  profoundly  affected  all 
subsequent  thought,  so  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  state 
their  doctrines  without  using  words  that  bear  the  Stoic 
imprint.  It  is,  liowever,  in  the  realm  of  ethics  that  we 
hnd  language  most  vividly  impressed  by  their  conceptions. 
The  aim  of  all  tlie  philosophers  of  that  age  was  a  selfish 
one,  —  the  superiority  of  the  soul  of  the  sapiens,  or  'sage,' 
to  all  the  chances  or  changes  of  the  universe,  his  complete 
serenity, 'equanimity' (ae^'MammYas)  or  'composure  '  (secu- 
ritas,  p.  278)  amid  the  whirl  of  things  about  him.  This 
the  sect  sought  to  find  in  the  perfect  mental  and  moral 
conformity  of  the  sapiens  to  the  scheme  of  the  universe 
and  its  governing  soul.  Providence,  or  what  we  should 
call  '  the  divine  Avill.'  Sequi  yiaturam  was  their  motto. 
Though  the  controlling  motive  of  such  conformity  was 
selfishness,  yet,  since  the  sapiens  too  was  but  a  part  of 
the  whole  organism,  his  scheme  of  conduct  necessarily  in- 
cluded acting  for  the  good  of  the  universe  as  well,  though 
he  acted  primarily  for  himself. 

The  serenity  above  mentioned  was  incompatible  with 
the  existence  in  the  sage  of  any  ruffling  emotions,  such  as 
love,  hate,  desire,  or  fear,  wliich,  from  their  disturbing 
nature,  the   Stoics  called  irdOi]  (pdtJu',  plural  of  7rddo<;, 

^  III  accordance  with  this  idea,  even  hnman  speech,  being  divinely  con- 
stituted, had  within  it  the  true  nature  of  all  things  ;  for  was  not  language 
a  part  of  the  same  stupendous  organism  ?  Hence  the  search  for  the 
'  etymon '  in  the  endeavor  to  ascertain  the  truths  of  nature  (pp.  229  ff.)- 


LEARNED    WORDS   BECOME  POPULAR  39 

pathos)^  '  diseases,'  a  word  that  was  derived  from  a  root 
meaning  originally  '  suffer,'  though  it  had  long  been  special- 
ized to  'suffering  from  disease.'^  Hence  this  philosophic 
serenity  was  called  airddeta  (^apdtheia)  or  '  freedom  from 
disease.'  But  since  the  Stoics  identified  emotions  with 
diseases,  this  apdtheia  was  'freedom  from  emotions'  (ttci^t;), 
whence  apatliy,  its  English  representative,  means  '  absence 
of  feeling,'  as  in  'the  apathy  of  despair.'  Thus  we  have 
abandoned  the  idea  of  'disease,'  but  we  still  keep  the  term 
denoting  '  freedom  from  it '  to  express  '  want  of  feeling,' 
the  idea  that  the  word  acquired  through  the  conceptions 
of  the  Stoics.  Compare  also  stoical  and  stoicism  in  a  similar 
sense. 

Now  when  the  Stoic  ethics  were  expounded  in  Latin, 
Gv.  pathos  was  literally  translated,^  not  by  any  Latin  term 
thus  used  in  the  same  meaning,  Ijut  by  passio,  a  word  that 
meant  simply  'suffering,'  from  ■patior\'- to  suffer,'  which  is 
rightly  or  wrongly  supposed  to  be  from  the  same  root. 

In  Eno^lisli  we  have  retained  the  natural  meaning  of 
passio,  that  is,  'suffering,'  in  a  few  phrases  (such  as  'the 
p>assion  of  our  Lord'},  just  as  we  h^we patient,  'suffering,' 
'sufferer,'  'a  patient,'  and  p)assive,  all  from  patior'  in  its 
common  acceptation.  But  since  the  Latin  passio  was  used 
to  translate  Trdda  (^pcitJios)  in  the  Stoic  sense,  it  came 
more  and  more  to  be  applied  to  those  '  emotions '  which 
the  Stoics  called  by  that  name.  Borrowed  by  us  in  this 
meaning  also,  and  variously  specialized  as  referring  to 
particular  emotions,  it  came  to  be  used  in  English  as  we 
almost  always  use  it  to-day,  for  'a  [)assion,'  or  'the  pas- 
sions.'    This  likewise  accounts  for  our  adjective  impassive, 

'  Thus,  when  Cicero  wished  to  represent  it  in  Latin,  he  used  morhi  (the 
word  which  we  liave  in  morhid). 

2  Probably  under  tlie  inllueuce  of  the  idea  of  the  Stoic  etymon. 


40  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

in  which  we  have  the  curious  phenomenon  of  a  word  that 
is  practically  synonymous  with  its  contradictory,  passive. 
Both  adjectives  come  from  patior,  but  passive  is  derived 
from  the  verb  in  its  proper  sense  of  'suffer,'  while  impas- 
sive, its  contrary,  involves  the  special  Stoic  idea  of  apdtheia, 
and  means  '  showing  no  emotion,'  which  is,  in  effect,  the 
same  us  passive,  'suffering,  but  doing  nothing.'  So  im- 
passibility/ (of  countenance,  for  instance)  would  have  no 
meaning  but  for  the  Stoic  ideas  that  were  attached  to 
various  derivatives  of  patior  entirely  apart  from  their 
orisfinal  meaning^. 

With  the  English  pathos,  which  is  simply  the  Greek 
Trddo^  borrowed  without  change  of  form,  the  Stoics  have 
nothing  to  do ;  but  it  is  worth  while  to  mention  it  to 
complete  our  account  of  this  extraordinary  word.  The 
Greek  word  easily  became  specialized,  and,  changing  its 
relations,  came  to  mean,  among  other  things,  'suffering' 
from  the  point  of  view  not  of  the  suft'erer,  but  of  one  who 
looks  on  (at  a  tragedy,  for  instance).  In  this  sense  it 
was  adopted  as  an  English  word,  and,  with  its  adjective 
pathetic,^  is  much  used  in  literary  criticism  to  describe  a 
quality  of  style  with  reference  to  the  feelings  of  the  spec- 
tator or  reporter,  l^y  its  side,  and  serving  in  a  manner 
as  its  opposite,  stands  the  jocose  word  bathos.  This  is 
simply  the  Greek  /3d0o^,  '  depth,'  which  was  borrowed  by 
Pope  in  the  eighteentli  century  to  signify  what  he  called 
'  the  art  of  sinking  in  poetry,'  that  is,  a  descent  from  the 
sublime  to  the  ridiculous.  Bathos  has  maintained  its  place 
chiefly  through  its  combined  similarity  and  antagonism  to 
pathos.     It  is  probable  tliat  without  this  resemblance  and 

^  Strictly  speaking,  pathetic  is  not  derived  form  nd.6os  but  from  the 
Greek  adjective  iraOrjTiKds,  whicli  comes  from  tlie  same  root  ;  but  the 
adjective  and  tlie  noun  are  closely  associated  in  English 


LEARNED    WORDS   BECOME  POPULAR  41 

antithesis  it  could  not  have  lasted  long  enough  to  become 
a  part  of  the  language. 

Of  all  the  technical  terms  of  the  Stoic  philosophy,  only 
passion  has  become  completely  popular ;  but  the  history  of 
this  word  is  not  intelligible  apart  from  the  others,  and  the 
whole  group  illustrates,  in  the  most  striking  way,  both  the 
continuity  of  civilization  and  the  scope  and  significance  of 
etymological  study. 


CHAPTER  V 

TECHNICAL   OR   CLASS   DIALECTS 

In  Chapters  III  and  IV  we  have  distinguished  between 
popuhir  and  learned  words,  and  have  seen  how  learned 
words  may  pass  into  the  popular  category,  drawing  some 
of  our  most  striking  examples  from  the  language  of 
science  and  philosophy.  This  matter  of  technical  lan- 
guage, however,  requires  some  further  discussion. 

Every  profession  or  trade,  every  art,  and  every  science 
has  its  technical  vocabulary,  the  function  of  which  is 
partly  to  designate  things  or  processes  which  have  no 
names  in  ordinary  English,  and  partly  to  secure  greater 
exactness  in  nomenclature.  Such  special  dialects,  or  jar- 
gons, are  necessary  in  technical  discussion  of  any  kind. 
Being  universally  understood  by  the  devotees  of  the  par- 
ticular science  or  art,  they  have  the  precision  of  a  mathe- 
matical formula.  Besides,  they  save  time,  for  it  is  much 
more  economical  to  name  a  })rocess  than  to  describe  it. 
Thousands  of  these  technical  terms  are  very  properly 
included  in  every  large  dictionary,  yet,  as  a  whole,  they 
are  rather  on  the  outskirts  of  the  English  language  than 
actually  within  its  borders. 

Different  occupations,  however,  differ  widely  in  the 
character  of  their  special  vocabularies.  In  trades  and 
handicrafts,  and  other  vocations,  like  farming  and  fishery, 
that  have  occupied  great  numbers  of  men  from  remote 
times,  the  technical  vocabulary  is  very  old.  It  consists 
largely  of  native  words,  or  of  borrowed  words  that  have 

42 


TECHNICAL    OR   CLASS  DIALECTS  43 

worked  themselves  into  the  very  fibre  of  our  hmguage. 
Hence,  though  highly  technical  in  many  particulars,  these 
vocabularies  are  more  familiar  in  sound,  and  more  gener- 
ally understood,  than  most  other  technicalities.  The 
special  dialects  of  law,  medicine,  divinity,  and  philosophy 
have  also,  in  their  older  strata,  become  pretty  familiar  to 
cultivated  persons,  and  have  contributed  much  to  the 
popular  vocabulary.  Yet  every  vocation  still  possesses  a 
large  body  of  technical  terms  that  remain  essentially 
foreign,  even  to  educated  speech.  And  the  proportion 
has  been  much  increased  in  the  last  fifty  years,  particu- 
larly in  the  various  departments  of  natural  and  political 
science  and  in  t^ie  mechanic  arts.  Here  new  terms  are 
coined  with  the  greatest  freedom,  and  abandoned  with 
indifference  when  they  have  served  their  turn.  Most  of 
the  new  coinages  are  confined  to  special  discussions,  and 
seldom  get  into  general  literature  or  conversation.  Yet 
no  profession  is  nowadays,  as  all  professions  once  were, 
a  close  guild.  The  lawyer,  the  physician,  the  man  of 
science,  the  divine,  associates  freely  with  his  fellow- 
creatures,  and  does  not  meet  them  in  a  merely  professional 
way.  Furthermore,  what  is  called  '  popular  science ' 
makes  everybody  acquainted  with  modern  views  and 
recent  discoveries.  Any  important  experiment,  though 
made  in  a  remote  or  provincial  laboratory,  is  at  once 
reported  in  the  newspapers,  and  everybody  is  soon  talking 
about  it,  — as  in  the  case  of  the  Rontgen  rays  and  wireless 
telegraphy.  Thus  our  common  speech  is  always  taking 
up  new  technical  terms  and  making  them  commonplace. 
The  process  began  with  the  conversion  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxons,  soon  after  their  settlement  in  Britain.  Ecclesias- 
tical words  from  the  Latin  (mostly  of  Greek  origin)  were 
the  first  to  come  in.     Among  these  were:  — 


44  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

abbot:  A.S.  ubbod,  from  L.  abbas,  abbalis,  which  conies,  through  the 
Greek,  from  the  Syriac  abba,  '  father.' 

alb:  A.S.  alhe,  from  L.  albus,  'white.' 

bishop:  A.S.  biscop,  from  L.  episcopus  (Gr.  eVi'crKOTros,  epislvpos, 
literally  'overseer').     Episcopal  is  a  later  borrowing  from  the  Latin. 

cowl :  A.S.  cugle,  from  L.  cucullus,  '  hood.' 

??ion/L.-  A.S.  munuc,  from  L.  monachus,  'one  who  lives  alone'  (from 
Gr.  /xovos,  mdnos,  'alone,'  .seen- in  monologue,  monotone,  monarchi/,  etc.). 

minster:  A.S.  ?////«s/er,  from  L.  monusterium  (also  from  Gr. /xwos)- 
Monastery  is  a  later  borrowing,  like  episcopal. 

noon:  A.S.  /h1»,  from  L.  »;oHa  {Jioru),  'ninth  hour'  (three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  ;  the  shift  in  meaning  coincided  with  a  change  in 
the  time  of  the  service  called  nones). 

nun:  A.S.  norme,  from  L.  nunna  (from  a  Greek  word  of  uncertain 

origin). 

pope:  A.S.  papa,  from  L.  papa,  'father,'  originally  a  childish  word. 
It  is  the  same  as  our  papa,  which  we  have  independently  adopted 
from  the  French  papa,  which  is  the  same  Latin  word. 

A.S.  preost,  from  L.  presbi/ter  (Gr.  rrpeafivTepo';,  presbdleros, '  elder  '). 
The  Latin  presbt/ter  was  afterward  borrowed  without  change,  and 
gives  its  name  to  the  Presbyterian  Church,  in  which  the  ministers  are 
not  called  '  priests.' 

school:  A.S.  scDl,  from  L.  schola,  which  is  from  the  Gr.  axoXy 
(schole),  '  leisure.' 1 

verse:  A.S.  vers,  fers,  from  L.  versus,  'a  turning,'  'a  line  of  verse.' 

clerk:  A.S.  clerc.  Cleric,  clergij,  and  clerical  well  illustrate  the 
variety  of  our  vocabulary.  They  all  come  ultimately  from  Greek 
kXtj/cikos  (kierikos),  'clerical'  (literally,  'pertaining  to  the  lot,'  from 
KXrjpos,  Utros, '  lot,'  later  '  orders '  in  the  ecclesiastical  sense 2).  Clerk, 
however,  was  borrowed  from  L.  clericus  by  the  Anglo-Saxons,  as 
cleric,  clerc,  and  has  maintained  itself  in  the  latter  form.  The  same 
Latin  word  gave  clerc  in  Old  French,  and  thence  come  O.  Fr,  clergie 

1  The  shift  of  meaning,  which  seems  so  peculiar  to  our  schoolboys,  is 
simple  enough.  War  and  politics  wore  the  business  of  the  Greek  and 
Koman  gentleman.  He  gave  to  literature  (with  good  effect!)  what  leis- 
ure he  had  from  these  more  serious  pursuits.  Similarly  we  have  ludus 
in  Latin,  and  hull  viagisler  ('  a  master  of  sport')  meant  'schoolmaster.' 
Pedagogue,  however,  was  originally  the  slave  who  led  (Gr.  6.-yw)  the  boy 
(TraFs,  7rai56s)  to  school. 

2  See  Deuteronomy  xviii.  '-'. 


TECHNICAL    OR   CLASS   DIALECTS  45 

and  our  clergy  (which  also  shows  the  influence  of  anotlier  O.  Fr. 
word,  clergie,  from  L.L.  clericatus).  Clerical  comes  directly  from 
L.L.  clericalist,  a  derivative  of  cleric  us.  Clergy  and  clerk  doubtless 
became  popular  almost  immediately,  and  the  latter  (through  its  sense 
of  'scholar')  has  received  a  wide  extension  of  meaning'.  But  clerical 
is  comparatively  a  learned  word. 

From  the  beginning  of  our  language  to  the  present  day, 
Latin  has  been,  in  large  part,  the  language  of  scholars  and 
of  the  learned  professions;  hence,  a  multitude  of  technical 
terras  are  of  Latin  origin.  Medicine  has  also  brought  in 
a  great  many  Greek  terms,  since  the  ancient  physicians 
were  largely  Greeks.  In  the  Middle  Ages  there  were  a 
succession  of  distinguished  Arabian  physicians  who  had 
become  saturated  with  Greek  culture,  and  from  them  we 
have  a  number  of  words,  some  Arabic,  some  Greek  in 
an  Arabic  form  (see  p.  108). 

The  law,  from  the  time  of  the  Norman  Conquest,  had 
two  technical  languages,  Latin  and  Norman  French.  The 
latter  gradually  developed  into  what  is  still  known  as  Law 
French,  —  a  curious  jargon  containing  a  large  admixture 
of  Eno'lish  words.  Hence,  tlie  law-terms  which  have 
made  their  way  into  our  ordinary  vocabulary,  show  now  a 
French  and  now  a  Latin  derivation,  and  in  many  instances 
are  out-and-out  Latin,  with  no  change  in  form.  Thus  we 
have,  for  example :  — 

From  French:  mortgage,  from  mort,  'dead,'  and  gage,  'pledge' 
(the  same  word  seen  in  our  wager  and  wages). 

champerty,  from  champart  (L.  campi  pars). 

mortmain,  from  mort,  and  main,  'hand.' 

convey,  from  O.  Fr.  conveier  (L.L.  conviare,  from  L.  con-  and  via, 
'way')  ;  convoy  is  from  the  modern  Fr.  convoyer,  of  the  same  deriva- 
tion.    Technical  derivatives  of  convey  are  conveyance  and  conveyancer. 

entail,  from  O.  Fr.  entailler,  '  cut  off,'  '  curtail '  (from  L.  talea,  '  a 
rod,'  'a  cutting'  ;  cf.  tally,  tailor). 


46  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

tort,  from  O.  Fr.  Inrt,  L.  forliim,  'twisted'  (cf.  con-tori,  dhtort,  Inr- 
ture,  torsion). 

From  Latin:  justiciar,  justiciary,  and  Jiisticer,  from  Jj. L.  jusliciarius. 

abulienate,  from  L.  ulienus,  '  another's.' 

divorce,  from  L.L.  divorcium  (for  divortium),  from  (//-,  'separate,' 
and  vorlere,  'turn.' 

injunction,  from  L.  in-jungere,  'join  into,'  'enjoin. 

Latin  without  change  :  subpoena  (literally  '  under  penalty,'  —  from 
the  beginning  of  the  writ). 

affidavit,  L.L.  'he  has  pledged  his  faith.'  from  ad-,  and  Jides,  'faith,' 
'  pledge.' 

alibi,  Latin  adverb,  '  elsewhere.' 

alias,  Latin  adverb,  'otherwise.' 

habeas  corpus,  etc.,  etc.     See  p.  102. 

The  language  of  philosophy  is  mostly  of  Latin  origin. 
It  includes  also  many  Greek  words,  but  most  of  these  have 
passed  through  the  Latin  before  reaching  their  English 
form.  Thus  logic  is  from  L.  logica,  l)ut  tliis  in  turn  is  a 
mere  transliteration  of  the  Gr.  Xoyiicj]  Qogike),  from 
\6yo<i  (J(}i/os),  'discourse,'  'reason.' 

So  metaphysics  is  the  Low  Latin  metajjJii/sica,  which  has 
a  curious  history.  In  the  manuscripts  of  Aristotle,  the 
ph/sica,  that  is,  the  works  relating  to  '  nature '(Gr.  cfyvai'i, 
phusis^,  were  followed  by  those  which  dealt  with  abstract 
philosophy  ;  hence,  the  latter  were  called,  by  his  disciples, 
the  works  'after  ((jr.  metd)  the  physics'  (ra  fiera  to. 
(f)vaiKd).  But  the  phrase  was  capable  of  meaning  also 
'  things  beyond,  or  above,  the  natural,'  and  it  was  so  under- 
stood by  the  scholastic  philosophers,  whose  interpretation 
has  prevailed.  Hence,  also,  the  sense  of  'supernatural' 
which  the  word  metapliysical  frequently  bore  in  Eliza- 
bethan English,  as  when  Lady  Macbeth  speaks  of  'meta- 
physical aid.' 

In  countless  instances,  the   Greek   philosophical   term 


TECHNICAL   OR   CLASS  DIALECTS  47 

was  not  adopted  into  Latin,  but  actually  translated,  as 
TTcido'i  {pathos)  was  by  passio  (see  pp.  39-40).  In  such 
cases  the  English  has  the  Latin  word,  but  with  the  mean- 
ing of  the  original  Greek,  often  considerably  modified  in 
the  course  of  centuries  (as  in  jyassiow). 

Predicament  is  another  example.  Aristotle  divided 
conceptions  into  certain  general  classes  which  he  called 
categories,  that  is,  literally,  '  assertions,' ^  because  they  were 
meant  to  include  everything  that  could  be  asserted  of  an 
object  (as  quality,  quantity,  etc.).  The  Greek  word  was 
translated  literally  by  the  Lutin  praedicame7itu7n  {homjn-ae- 
dlco,  'to  predicate'),  which  gave  us  predicament.  Both 
predicament  and  categori/  came  gradually  to  have  a  vaguer 
sense,  —  'class,'  'condition,'  —  which  category  lias  kept, 
remaining  always  a  learned  word.  Predicament^  however, 
has  become  perfectly  popular  in  the  phrase  'in  a  bad  pre- 
dicament,' for  'in  a  bad  situation,'  whence  predicament, 
without  the  adjective,  in  the  sense  of  a  'fix,'  —  as  'What 
a  predicament ! ' 

The  same  is  true  of  Latin  theological  language.  But 
here  a  special  influence  was  at  work.  Religious  instruc- 
tion has  been  the  most  pervasive  form  of  education. 
Preaching,  the  confessional,  and  private  exhortation  have 
therefore  made  the  greater  numljer  of  theological  terms 
pretty  familiar  to  everybody,  and  many  of  them  have 
become  popular  in  the  fullest  sense. 

Such  are  the  Latin  words  salvation,  damnation,  trinity, 
convert,  vicar,  curate,  penitent,  repent,  reprobate,  confess, 
absolve,  absolution,  doctrine  (sound,  false),  altar,  infidel, 
perverse,  confession,  purgatory ;  and  (Latin  from  Greek) 
sceptic,  heretic ;  and  (French  from  Latin)  assoil,  penance, 
'day  oi  judgment,''  aisle,  friar, pilgrim,  clergy,  p)arson,  repeiit, 

1  Gr.  Kar-qyopia,  from  Kar-qyop^w^  'assort,'  from  ayopd,  'assembly.' 


48  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

graee^  mercy^pity^  etc.  Others  have  remained  more  or  less 
learned,  but  are  not  exclusively  applied  to  theological 
ideas:  as,  'works  of  supereroijation^'  excommunicate^  sanc- 
tify,  justify,  carnal,  venial,  obdurate,  mediator,  pastoral; 
and  (Latin  from  Greek)  dogma,  heterodox,  ascetic,  evangel- 
ist, cathedral,  orthodox,  parochial,  dogmatic. 

Further,  since  it  was  necessary  to  explain  tlie  doctrines 
of  the  church  in  simple  language,  a  very  large  number  of 
technical  terms  have  been  translated  into  English,  and 
thus  new  meanings  have  l)een  added  to  many  popular 
words.  Examples  are:  hell,  shrift,  ghostly,  Jlock,  shepherd, 
sheep,  the  world,  the  flesh,  righteous,  unclean,  love,  dooms- 
day, gospel,  brother,  deadly  sin,  evil,  godly,  godhead,  son, 
kingdom,  meekness,  forgive,  froivard,  hard  heart.  The 
reading  of  the  Bible  in  the  vernacular  has  had  the  same 
effect,  since  the  language  of  divinity  is  largely  drawn 
from  the  Scriptures.  No  other  technical  dialect  has  con- 
tributed so  many  words  or  meanings  to  the  ordinary 
vocabulary. 

Observe  that  all  the  words  cited  above,  or  most  of  them, 
may  be  applied  familiarly,  in  a  figurative  or  jocose  way,  to 
matters  in  no  way  connected  with  law  or  divinity.  Thus 
a  man  may  mortgage  his  reputation;  lie  may  be  a  heretic 
in  his  medical  theories,  or  orthodox  in  his  political  views. 
He  may  be  socially  excommunicated  for  his  sins  against 
propriety,  or  acquitted  of  a  charge  of  prosiness  by  the  ver- 
dict of  a  drawing-room. 

Nautical  terms  often  show  great  picturesqueness  and 
humor.  Some  of  them  originated  in  slang,  but  have  be- 
come quite  technical.  Lazaret  is  properly  'a  hospital  for 
lepers,'  and  comes  from  the  parable  of  Lazarus  in  the  six- 
teenth chapter  of  St.  Luke.  Its  extension  to  hospitals  in 
general,  and  its  specialization  to  '  a  hospital  ship,'  or  '  a 


TECHNICAL   OR   CLASS   DIALECTS  49 

place  of  quarantine,'  are  not  necessarily  slangy  in  their 
origin.  Tlie  sense  of  'ship's  storeroom,'  however,  cer- 
tainly crosses  the  line.  The  application  of  cockpit  to  the 
place  to  which  the  wounded  are  carried  during  a  sea  fight, 
is  clearly  a  bit  of  jocose  and  partly  euphemistic  slang. 
Sick  bay  is  an  easy  nautical  figure. 

Holystones,  for  the  '  stones  with  which  the  decks  are 
scrubbed,'  must  also  have  had  its  origin  in  jest.  Sailors 
go  down  on  their  knees  to  scrub.  If  holy  is  for  lioley 
(porous  sandstone  being  the  proper  material),  there  is 
none  the  less  a  joke  (as  in  the  case  of  the  Australian  holy 
dollar').^ 

Dead-eye,  or  deadmaii's  eye,  for  a  kind  of  block  with 
three  holes  in  it,  is  grimly  picturesque.  The  monocular 
Dick  Deadeye  in  ••  H.  M.  S.  Pinafore'  is  eitlier  a  pun  or  a 
misapprehension. 

Sea-terms  in  common  figurative  use  are  headway,  leeway, 
under  tvay,  coast,  steer  clear  of,  clear  the  decks,  07i  deck,  lee 
shore,  head-jiaio,  anchor,  take  the  helm,  to  ship,  to  unship, 
cargo,  to  liyhten  ship,  to  weather  the  storm,  a  safe  harbor,  to 
run.  aground,  to  founder,  to  suffer  shipivreck,  a  castaivay, 
piratical,  to  scuttle,  taken  aback,  aboard,  and  many  others. 

Modern  science  has  found  it  necessary  to  manufacture 
great  numbers  of  words,  and  for  this  purpose  has  had 
recourse,  not  only  to  Latin,  but  to  the  rich  storehouse  of 
the  Greek,  wliich  affords  peculiar  facilities  for  making  com- 
pounds. These  new  words,  however,  have  been  treated 
as  if  they  were  Latin,  since  most  of  the  Greek  words 
already  in  our  language  had  come  through  that  language. 
Thus  the  name  (-f  the  '  duck-mole '  is  a  compound  of  the 
Greek  TrXaru?  (^  plat  us),  'broad,'  and  ttou?  (^pous},  'foot'; 
but  the  form  used  in  English  is  not  platupous  (which 
1  A  d(^llar  in  wliich  a  hole  has  been  punched  (see  p.  141). 


50  WORDS   AND    THEIR    WAYS 

would  be  Greek),  but  -platijpus,  which  is  the  form  tliat 
platupons  takes  when  it  is  trausferred  into  Latin.  Some- 
times the  Latin  form  is  used  without  chauije  as  an  EuG^lisli 
word.  Often,  however,  the  new  term  takes  an  Englisli 
form  which  makes  it  h)ok  as  if  it  came  from  tlie  French. 
For  the  Latin  words  which  we  had  alread}'  borrowed 
through  that  language  had  set  the  fashion.  Thus  tele- 
graph, wliich  me£C-ns  '  the  far-writer,'  was  formed  from 
Greek  rrjXe  (tele'),  '  far  '  and  ypdcfyco  (grdphd),  '  write.'  Tlie 
Greek  form  wouhl  be  telegrdplios ;  the  Latin,  telegraphns. 
But  the  French  drops  the  final  us  of  Latin  words  (L. 
morhidus,  Fr.  viorbide'),  and  the  English  form  is  therefore 
telegraph  (as  if  from  Fr.  telegraphed . 

The  coinage  of  naturalists  and  other  scientific  men  varies 
greatly  in  its  linguistic  purity.  Some  of  the  words  which 
they  have  manufactured  from  the  Greek  are  as  good  as  if 
they  had  been  made  in  Athens,  or  Alexandria.  Others 
would  'make  Quintilian  stare  and  gasp.'  Tliis  is  not 
strange,  for  the  tendency  of  modern  science  has  been  to 
discourage  classical  study,  but  at  the  same  time  to  ransack 
the  classical  vocabulary.  In  the  case  of  foreign-sounding 
terms,  however,  our  language  swallows  camels  with  avidity, 
and  digests  them  wdthout  a  qualm.  The  most  clumsily 
manufactured  term  will  become  popular  if  the  thing 
becomes  familiar  and  if  there  is  no  other  name  for  it.  A 
striking  instance  is  ephthianura,  used  in  Australia  as  the 
vernacular  name  of  a  genus  of  small  birds  with  '  dimin- 
ished tails.'  It  is,  of  course,  a  bit  of  naturalists'  Latin, 
and  looks  and  sounds  well  enough.  But  it  appears  actually 
to  have  been  made  up  by  giving  a  Latin  termination  to  a 
Greek  phrase,  €<P6l€v  ovpd  (ephthien  ourd),  which  means 
'  its  tail  wasted  away'  {€(f)6i€P,  ephthie^i,  being  the  past 
tense  of  a  verb  related  to  our  word  phthiais,  which  is  also 


TECHNICAL    OR    CLASS   DIALECTS  51 

borrowed  from  the  Greek).  No  Greek  or  Roman  could 
possibly  have  made  such  a  noun,  l)ut  our  language  accepts 
it  with  the  same  complacency  with  which  it  has  accepted 
nincompoop,  a  corruption  of  non  co7npos  mentis,  or  hoax 
from  hocus  pocus  (itself  a  piece  of  dog-Latin).  Gas,  a 
word  devised  by  the  Dutch  chemist  von  Helmont  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  lias  had  a  veritably  triumphant  ca- 
reer. It  was  suggested  to  its  inventor  by  the  Greek  %ao<f 
{chaos'),  but  cannot  be  called  anything  but  an  out-and-out 
invention. 

The  classifying  habit  of  the  natural  sciences  reacts  on 
many  unscientific  terms  in  a  curious  way.  It  is  conven- 
ient for  the  naturalist  to  have  the  vernacular  or  '  trivial ' 
names  of  plants  and  animals  coincide  in  their  scope,  so  far 
as  possible,  with  the  orders  and  families  and  genera  of  his 
system.  Hence  we  are  bidden  to  limit  the  name  ft//  to 
dipterous  insects,  bug  to  the  hemiptera,  ivorm  to  the  order 
vermes,  and  are  rebuked  if  we  speak  of  -a  whale  as  a  '  big 
fish.''  This  is  all  very  well  for  the  purposes  of  science, 
but  we  must  not  allow  ourselves  to  be  browbeaten.  The 
whale  was  a  '  fish '  when  the  '  order  cetacea  '  had  never  been 
heard  of,  and  will  remain  a  '-Walfisch^  in  German  long- 
after  some  future  zoologist  has  reclassified  the  animal 
kingdom.  The  loose  popular  designations  are  quite  as 
well  established,  and  therefore  as  '  correct,'  as  the  more 
limited  terminology  of  science.  Less  '  accurate  '  they  may 
be,  but  language  is  not  always  bound  to  scientific  accu- 
racy. It  has  its  inalienable  right  to  vague  terms  when 
there  is  no  question  of  system  at  stake. 

The  technical  vocabulary  of  art  and  music  contains 
many  Italian  words.  Some  of  these  are  unchanged  in 
form  (like  stanza,  allegro,  piano,  falsetto,  soprano,  andante, 
concerto,  trio,  torso,  terra  cotta,  '  articles  of  virtti,''  j^iccolo, 


62  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

opera,  operetta,  finale^,  others  are  clipped  (like  violin  for 
violino,  duet  for  duetto,  quartet  or  quartette  for  quartetto, 
madrigal  for  ^nadrigaW)  or  otherwise  changed.  The  clip- 
ping, as  before,  is  after  the  French  model,  from  which 
lanffuas^e  other  terms  of  the  same  kind  have  been  taken 
(like  flageolet;  hauthoij  or  ohoe,  from  Fr.  hautbois,  'high 
wood';  figurine,  diminutive  of  figure). 

The  position  of  technical  dialects  or  jargons  with  respect 
to  our  language  is  this :  so  long  as  the  terms  in  question 
are  used  in  technical  discussions  only,  they  scarcely  belong 
to  the  English  vocabulary  at  all.  If  they  wander  out  of 
their  narrow  circle  and  are  occasionally  heard  in  current 
speech,  they  become  a  part  of  our  vocabulary,  though  they 
are  still  a  very  special  or  technical  part  of  it.  But  the 
process  may  go  much  farther :  the  objects  or  conceptions 
for  which  the  terms  stand  may  become  very  common,  or 
the  words  may  lose  their  strictly  scientific  sense  and  be 
applied  vaguely  or  metaphorically.  When  this  happens, 
the  word  has  l)ecome  fully  naturalized,  and  its  technical 
origin  is  pretty  sure  to  be  forgotten  in  the  long  run. 

The  propriety  of  using  technical  terms  in  speaking  or 
writing  depends  on  a  common-sense  principle.  A  remark 
should  be  intelligible,  not  merely  to  the  speaker,  wlio  is 
presumed  to  know  what  he  wishes  to  say,  but  also  to  the 
person  addressed.  Otherwise,  it  can  hardly  be  called 
language  in  any  proper  sense.  To  be  very  technical  in 
conversation  not  only  savors  of  pedantry  but  makes  the 
speaker  unintelligible ;  and  the  same  is  true  of  a  book 
addressed  'to  the  great  variety  of  readers.'  Among 
specialists,  however,  one  can  hardly  go  too  far  in  the 
employment  of  technicalities,  provided  the  terms  belong 
to  the  accepted  vocabulary  of  the  science  or  art  in  ques- 
tion.    That  form  of  pedantry  which  consists  in  changing 


TECHNICAL    OR    CLASS  DIALECTS  53 

well-established  designations  for  others  that  seem  to 
the  writer  more  appropriate  is  extremely  common,  and, 
indeed,  may  be  called  one  of  the  weaknesses  of  the  scien- 
tific temperament. 

The  lay  reader  is  often  tempted  to  laugh  at  the  'ses- 
quipedalian monstrosities '  of  the  scientific  vocabulary. 
If  such  words  are,  as  is  frequently  the  case,  formed  with 
unnecessary  grotesqueness,  laughter  is  justifiable  enough; 
but  the  mere  fact  that  they  are  long  and  cumbrous,  and 
that  a  good  many  of  them  are  used,  is  no  proper  subject 
for  jesting.  The  longest  scientific  term  is  really  short- 
hand, as  we  shall  soon  find  if  we  try  to  express,  in  ordinary 
language,  what  the  single  word  conveys  to  those  who 
understand  it.  It  would  be  quite  as  reasonable  to  make 
fun  of  the  a;'s  and  i/'s  of  the  algebraist.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  until  these  words  have  actually  made  their  way 
into  the  general  vocabulary,  they  have  scarcely  more 
rifyht  to  be  rated  as  Ensrlish  than  mathematical  formulye 
themselves. 

The  arts,  science,  philosophy,  and  religion  are  not  alone 
in  the  necessity  which  they  feel  for  a  special  vocabulary. 
Any  limited  circle  having  common  interests  is  sure  to 
develop  a  kind  of  'class  dialect,'  —  such  as  that  of  school- 
boys, of  university  men,  of  travelling  salesmen,  of  govern- 
ment clerks  (or  civil  servants).  For  many  persons, 
however,  the  centre  of  the  universe  is  '  society.'  Now 
'society'  is  ever  in  search  of  novelty, — and  it  is  a  limited 
body  of  well-to-do  women  and  men  of  leisure.  From  the 
almost  exclusive  association  of  these  persons  with  each 
other,  there  arises  a  kind  of  special  vocabulary,  which 
is  constantly  changing  with  the  changing  fashions,  yet 
maintains  a  measure  of  consistency,  despite  its  unstable 
character.       This    society    jargon    is    disseminated    like 


64  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

the  technical  language  of  the  philosopher  or  the  man 
of  science,  by  the  same  means  and  with  even  greater 
rapidity.  Most  of  the  words  soon  disappear,  but  a  con- 
siderable number  make  good  their  place  in  ordinary 
speech.  We  shall  study  some  of  these  coinages  in  the 
jiext  chapter. 

The  two  great  classes  of  mankind  are,  of  course,  men 
and  women.  The  occupations  and  interests  of  these 
classes  are  distinct  in  many  particulars.  As  we  should 
expect,  the  distinction  manifests  itself  in  the  phenomena 
of  language,  for  language  is  the  most  perfect  mirror  of 
all  mental  operations.  Every  one  knows  that  the  vocabu- 
lary of  women  differs  considerably  from  that  of  men.  In  • 
some  countries,  indeed,  where  women  spend  most  of  their 
time  in  retirement,  and  converse  chiefly  with  each  other, 
a  specific  '  women's  dialect '  has  grown  u[).  Even  among 
English-speaking  nations,  where  association  between  the 
sexes  is  but  very  slightly  restricted,  such  differences  are 
discernible.  The  use  of  common,  for  example,  in  the  sense 
of  '  vulgar '  is  distinctly  a  feminine  peculiarity.  It 
would  sound  effeminate  in  the  speech  of  a  man.  So,  in 
a  less  degree,  with  person  for  '  woman,'  in  contrast  to 
'lady.'  Nice  for  'fine'  must  have  originated  in  the  same 
way.  The  women's  dialect  is  often  more  conservative 
than  that  of  men,^  and  is  likely  to  be  marked  by  greater 
precision  of  utterance,  as  well  as  by  differences  in  vocabu- 
lary. 

1  I'liny  the  Younger  remarks,  with  admh'ation,  that  in  certain  letters 
written  by  a  friend's  wife  he  '  thought  he  was  reading  Plautus  or  Terence 
in  prose'  (Ep.  i.  16). 


CHAPTER  VI 

SLANG    AND    LEGITIMATE   SPEECH 

A  PECULIAR  kind  of  vagabond  language,  always  hanging 
on  the  outskirts  of  legitimate  speech,  but  continually 
straying  or  forcing  its  way  into  the  most  respectable  com- 
pany, is  what  we  call  dang.  The  prejudice  against  this 
form  of  speech  is  to  be  encouraged,  though  it  usually  rests 
on  a  misconception.  There  is  nothing  abnormal  about 
slang.  In  making  it,  men  proceed  in  precisely  the  same 
manner  as  in  making  language,  and  under  the  same 
natural  laws.  The  motive,  however,  is  somewhat  differ- 
ent, for  slang  is  not  meant  simply  to  express  one's 
thoughts.  Its  coinage  and  circulation  come  rather  from 
the  wish  of  the  individual  to  distinguish  himself  by  oddity 
or  grotesque  humor. ^  Hence  slang  is  seldom  controlled 
by  any  regard  for  propriety,  and  it  bids  deliberate  defiance 
to  all  considerations  of  good  taste. 

Slang  is  commonly  made  by  the  use  of  harsh,  violent,  or 
ludicrous  metaphors,  obscure  analogies,  meaningless  words, 
and  expressions  derived  from  the  less  known  or  less  es- 
teemed vocations  or  customs.     But  the  processes  involved 

1  '  Thieves' slang'  or  'peddlers'  French'  {argot,  Unthiralsch)  stands  in  a 
somewhat  different  position.  It  is,  in  fact,  tlie  professional  jargon  of  a 
particular  class  of  society,  and  is  comparable,  therefoi'e,  to  other  technical 
vocabnlaries,  though  the  art  or  profession  which  it  represents  lies  outside 
the  bounds  of  respectable  occupations.  It  has  also  the  special  object  of 
concealment,   and   belongs  therefore  to  the  class  of   'secret  languages.' 

55 


56  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

are  strikingly  linguistic.  In  fact,  slang  may  almost  be 
called  the  only  living  language,  the  only  language  in 
which  these  processes  can  be  seen  in  full  activity.  Take, 
for  example,  the  expression  start  in  for  'begin.'  It  is  only 
a  metaphor  derived  from  lumbering  operations,  when  men 
start  into  the  woods  in  late  autumn  to  begin  the  winter's 
work.  '  lireak  ground,'  which  is  in  good  use,  is  a  figure 
of  precisely  the  same  kind,  from  the  more  respectable  pro- 
fession of  building.  So  'to  pack  up  one's  traps,'  ^  from  the 
vocation  of  trapping,  is  similar  to  the  Latin  vasa  eoUigere, 
'gather  your  pots  and  kettles,'  which,  originally  soldiers' 
slang,  came  at  last  to  be  the  regular  expression  for  '  break- 
ing camp.'  'On  the  stocks'  for  'in  preparation,'  a 
metaphor  from  ship-building,  is  in  good  colloquial  use. 
'  Down  to  bed  rock '  and  '  peter  out '  are  natural  ex- 
pressions among  miners,  but  they  become  slang  when 
transferred  to  other  circumstances  and  used  as  figures  of 
speech.  So  with  the  poker  terms  '  ante  up  '  and  '  it  is  up  to 
you,'  with  'come  a  cropper,'  'to  be  in  at  the  death,' 
'come  to  the  scratch,'  'toe  the  mark,'  'well-groomed,' 
'knock-out  blow,'  'below  the  belt,'  'cock  of  the  walk,' 
'mass  play,'  'get  on  to  his  curves,'  and  a  thousand  other 
expressions  that  have  passed  into  slang  from  various  fields 
of  sport.  None  of  these  phrases  is  accepted  at  present, 
though  they  differ  much  in  their  degree  of  slanginess,  but 
it  is  impossible  to  predict  their  standing  a  hundred  years 
hence.  For  the  sport  of  former  days  has  made  many  con- 
tributions to  our  legitimate  vocabulary.  Thus  bias  (from 
bowling)  is  a  dignified  word,  though  howl  over  is  still 
colloquial.  So  '  to  parry  a  thrust,'  '  to  fence  '  (in  an  argu- 
ment), 'to  cross  swords  with  the  opposing  counsel,'  'to 
handy  words'  (literally,  'to  bat  them  to  and  fro'  as  in 

^  The  Elizabethans  said  '  truss  up  your  trinkets '  in  the  same  sense. 


SLANG  AND  LEGITIMATE  SPEECH  57 

bandy-ball),  'to  ivrestle  with  a  problem,' ^  'to  trip  one  up' 
in  a  discussion,  '  to  track  or  trace  a  quotation  '  or   '  to  lone 
track  of-d  subject,'  'to  run  counter'  (literally,  of  dogs  who 
follow  the  scent  in  the  wrong  direction),  '  to  hit  (or  miss^ 
the   mark,'    'within   an    ace    of,'    are    all    good    English 
expressions,   though  most  of  them  were    formerly   slang 
and   passed    through   the    intermediate    stage    of    collo- 
quialism   before  they  secured   admission  to  the   literary 
language.      The    now  disreputable    amusement    of   cock- 
fighting   (which  was  once  respectable   enough   to   divide 
with   scholarship    and    archery    the    attention    of    Roger 
Ascham)  has  provided  the  language  with  crestfallen,  '  in 
high/ea^7t(?r,'  and  Shakspere's  overcroiv  (cf.  to  crow  over'). 
'To  show  the  ivldte  feather'   is    from    the   same   source, 
since  white  feathers  in  a  gamecock's  tail  are  a  sign  of  im- 
pure breeding.     Often  the  origin  of  such  words  or  phrases 
has  been  quite  forgotten,  but,  when  traced,  discloses  their 
true  character  at  once.     Fair  play  is  still  recognized  as 
a  figure  from  gambling;    hut  foul  plat/,  now  specialized 
to  'murder,'  is  hardly  felt  as  a  metaphor  at  all.     Only 
the  etymologist  knows  that  hazard  may  be  the  Arabic  al 
zCir,   '  the  die,'   and  that  chance   means   '  the    fall   of   the 
dice'  (L.L.  cadentia,'^  from  cado).     Yet  both  words  still 
have  gaming  associations:    hazard  is  a  particular  kind  of 
dice-play,  and   'to  take  one's  chances,'  'a  good   or  bad 
chance,'  '  the  chances  are  against  it '  are  transparent  meta- 
phors. 

Many  examples  might  be  cited  from  sports  that  have  the 
dignified  associations  of  antiquity.     Thus,  '  to  tilt  at '  (cf. 

iCf.  St.  Paul's  famous  figure  in  Ephesians  vi.  12:  'For  we  wrestle 
not  against  flesh  and  blood,  but  against  principalities,'  etc. 

2  Whence  also  cadrncc,  which  has  no  connection  with  gaming,  but 
comes  from  another  specialization  of  the  word. 


58  WORDS   AND    THEIR    WAYS 

full  tilt},  'to  break  a  lance,'  'in  the  lists,'  'to  rnn  one's 
course,'  'to  reach  the  goal,'  'to  win  the  palm.'  Slang  is 
no  novelty,  as  many  persons  imagine.  It  is  only  new 
slang  that  is  novel.  '  The  ancients  did  not  know  that 
they  were  ancients.' 

Provincialisms  or  dialect  words  are  often  adopted  into 
slang,  exactly  as  they  are  adopted  into  literary  language. 
When  Sir  Thomas  Lipton  spoke  of  'lifting  the  cup,'  he 
was  merely  using  a  provincialism, ^  but  when  the  people  of 
the  United  States  took  up  the  expression  in  good-natured 
mockery  it  became  slang.  Burns's  crooii  was  also  a  dia- 
lect term,  but  it  almost  immediately  commended  itself 
to  the  poets,  and  is  now  in  good  use.  So  vamos  is  a 
proper  Mexican  word  (Sp.  'let  us  go'),  but  when  it  is 
quoted  and  used  by  Americans  for  '  depart '  (^vamoose},  as 
many  words  have  been  borrowed  from  other  languages, 
it  becomes  slang.  So  savv^  (Sp.  sabe  usted,  '  do  you 
know?')  is  a  slang  word  for  'comprehension';  but  ir/no- 
ramus  (L.  'we  do  not  know,'  used  as  a  law  term)  is 
excellent  English.  A  fiasco  is  properly  a  theatrical  failure. 
The  Italian  say  /ar  fiasco  ('  to  make  a  bottle ')  for  '  to 
break  down  or  fail  in  a  theatrical  performance.'  The 
origin  of  the  phrase  is  unknown, ^  but  fiasco  is  now  suf- 
ficiently reputable  English,  though  it  is  of  recent  intro- 
duction. JNIany  other  foreign  words,  now  thoroughly 
naturalized,  seem  to  have  had  slangy  associations  at  some 
period  of  their  history.  This  is  especially  likely  in  the 
case  of  those  that  may  have  been  introduced  by  sol- 
diers who  have  served  in  foreign  parts.  Bravado  (Sp. 
bravada}  looks  like  a  word  of  this  kind.  Bizarre  (which 
we  take  from  French)  has  never  been  slangy  in  English. 

1  Compare  '  to  lift  cattle  '  and  shoplifter. 

2  But  cf .  \r]Kvei<;u}  and  ampullor  (p.  07,  note). 


SLANG   AND   LEGITIMATE  SPEECH  59 

In  French,  however,  it  formerly  meant  'soldierly,'  and 
if  it  is  actually  from  the  Basque  bisarra,  '  beard,'  we  may 
conjecture  that  it  was  not  a  dignified  borrowing.  The 
'■sack of  a  city'  (from  Fr.  sac,  '  pack,'  'plunder')  betrays  its 
own  origin ;  compare  also  loot,  from  the  Hindoo  word  for 
'booty.' 

A  few  additional  examples  may  be  cited  to  illustrate 
these  points,  and  in  parti(?Ldar  to  sliow  how  near  slang 
lies  to  legitimate  speech.  We  may  say  \\ith  propriety 
a  carnival  or  a  Saturnalia  of  crime,  but  not  a  perfect  circus. 
A  man  may  well  be  recalcitrant,^  but  only  in  colloquial 
style  can  he  be  a  kicker.  We  cannot  with  dignity  allude  to 
the  curves  of  base-ball,  but  a  bias,  from  the  game  of 
bowls,  is  proper  enough.  A  1  i^  hardly  out  of  the  region 
of  slang,  but  probiti/  and  iynprobity,  similar  mercantile 
expressions,  have  cleared  their  skirts  of  commercial  asso- 
ciations, and  are  in  good  use.-  You  can  hardly  jumj)  on 
a  man,  nor  can  you  go  at  him,  but  you  can  readily  assail  or 
assault'^  him,  and  the  Romans  used  adi/'e  for  'go  to'  in 
all  senses.  Insult  means  literally  'to  jump  at  or  upon.' 
Apprehendo  is  merely  Latin  for  'catch  on.'  So  attend  to 
is  domestic  language  for  '  punish,'  but  the  Romans  used 
animadvertere'^  not  onl}^  for  'attend  to'  in  the  literal 
sense,  but  for  'punish'  as  well,  and  animadversion  is  in 
good  literary  use. 

1  L.  re-,  'back,'  and  ralcitro,  'kick,'  from  calx,  calcis,  'heel.' 

-  The  L.  impri}bns  must  have  meant  originally  '  not  first-class,'  and 
its  use  by  Plautus  of  two  girls  in  the  sense  of  a  '  bad  lot '  clearly  shows 
its  slangy  character.  Yet  this  word,  with  its  opposite,  prohus,  has 
become  one  of  the  most  respectable  in  the  Latin  language,  and  in  English 
has  lost  all  trace  of  its  origin. 

^Assail  is  French  from  L.  ad,  'to,'  'at,'  and  salio,  'jump'  ;  assault 
is  also  French  from  ad  and  saltus,  'a  jumping,'  which  comes  from  the 
same  verb  salio. 

•*  From  animum  adotrtere,  '  to  turn  the  attention  to.' 


60  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

Our  desire  is  a  product  of  soldiers'  slang.  It  evidently 
comes  (through  the  French)  from  desidero,  no  miss' 
a  soldier  who  is  '  out  of  his  place '  at  roll-call.  Once 
transferred,  on  account  of  its  familiarity,  to  a  more 
general  meaning,  desidero  finally  became  the  usual  word 
for  'long  for.'  Thus,  a  word  belonging,  if  not  to  slang, 
at  least  to  a  special  vocation,  becomes  universal.  ^  Doubt- 
less fire  over  one\s  head,  on  guard,  enrolled  (in  a  body  or 
sect),  in  marcJdnu  order,  expedite,  expeditio7i,  and  many 
others  come  from  the  same  source. 

Salary  affords  a  good  instance  of  ancient  slang.  The 
L.  salarium  meant,  among  other  tilings,  '  salt-money,'  an 
allowance  which  a  soldier  received  to  buy  salt  with 
(L.  sal,  'salt'),  but  it  was  soon  extended  to  the 
present  meaning  of  'salary.'  Such  an  extension  was 
clearly  slang  in  the  first  instance.  Compare  our  collo- 
quial 'earn  his  salt,'  and  '^_>m-money.'  Sardonic  also 
looks  like  venerable  slang.  It  is  certainly  so  if  it  comes 
from  the  name  of  a  Sardinian  (Gr.  Sardo,  '  Sardinia ') 
plant  which  puckered  up  the  eater's  face  into  a  sardonic 
smile.  A  solecism  is  so  called  from  the  bad  Greek  of  the 
colonists  of  Soli  in  Asia  Minor.  Doubtless  it  was  at  first 
a  slang  designation.  Compare  the  'Stratford  French'  of 
Chaucer's  Prioress,  who  v/as  ignorant  of  the  '  French  of 
Paris,'  and  the  old  phrase  'French  of  Norfolk'  for  the 
Norfolk  dialect  of  English. 

A  kind  of  slang  occurs  in  various  languages  which  has 
great  influence  on  common  speech.  The  tendency  to  use 
diminutives  for  the  names  of  familiar  objects  or  customary 
tools  has  been  often  remarked,  and  there  are  diminutives 
in  Greek,  Latin,  and  other  languages,  which  must  have 

iSee  Greeuough,  in  Harvard  Studies  in  Classical  Philology,  I,  9G. 


SLANG   AND   LEGITIMATE  SPEECH  61 

had  this  origin.^  The  use  of  his  with  familiar  words,  as 
'  He  knew  Ms  Homer  from  beginning  to  end,'  is  purified 
slang  of  the  same  kind,  and  it  is  common  to  use  Utile  of 
anything  familiar,  in  a  kind  of  baby-talk,  prompted  by 
the  same  feeling :  as,  '  Eat  your  little  dinner,'  '  his  little 
horse.'  The  writer  was  once  in  Greece,  talking  in  this 
style  with  an  intimate  friend,  and  observed  that  he  was 
really  translating  the  Homeric  <J)lXo(;  (^philos).  The  sus- 
picion was  not  far  off  that  this  too  had  l)een  slang,  but 
was  afterward  adopted  by  the  literary  language.  In 
some  languages,  as  the  Lithuanian,  almost  any  noun  may 
thus  take  a  diminutive  form,  —  in  other  words,  this  kind 
of  slang  has  become  the  ordinary  speech. 

Slang  is  fond  of  clipped  words  :  as,  monk  for  monhey^ 
exam  for  examination^  loony  for  lunatic^  middy  for  midship- 
man^  auto  for  automobile,  biz  for  business,  ley  for  blackley, 
^varsity  for  university.'^  Many  such  formations  have 
passed  into  the  accepted  vocabulary.  Thus  cab  is  short 
for  cabriolet,  van  for  vanyuard  (for  avant-yuard^,  fence  for 
defence,  miss  for  mistress,  pert  for  apert,  mob  for  mobile 
vulyus,  ^bus  for  omnibus  (itself  originally  a  slang  term), 
cad  for  cadet,  yin  for  Geneva,  rum  for  rumbullion,  pad  for 
footpad,  piano  for  pianoforte,  cit  for  citizen,  kilo  for  kilo- 
gram, hack  for  hackney,  zoo  for  zooloyical  garden,  loo  for 
lanterloo,^  gill  ('a  girl,'  'a  flirt')  for  Gillian  (i.e.  Juli- 
ana), ivay   for  waghalter,^  per  cent   for  j?er   centum,   jjros 

^  See  Cooper,  Word-Formation  in  the  Sermo  Plebeius,  p.  107.  English 
examples  are  jimm>j  {jemmy)  and  hrttii  for  Imrglars'  tools,  jack  (as  in 
bootjack),  a  spiiiniiig  jenny,  hiUy  for  a  'club'  or  (in  Australia)  for  a 
'bushniau's  kettle.'     Cf.  p.";l8G. 

2  Cf.  the  in-ovincial  English  varsal  for  iniii-ersal  (England)  and  the 
Yankee  tarncd  for  eternal  (now  nearly  obsolete). 

3  Itself  originally  slang,  being  the  refrain  of  a  comic  song. 

*That  is,  'one  fit  to  be  hanged,'  'a  rogue.'  The  .sense  of  'droll  fel- 
low,'  'humorist'   is  more  recent:    see  the  disquisition  on  'the  insipid 


62  WORDS   AXD   THE  IB    WAYS 

and  co)is  for  pros  aiul  co7itras,  consols  for  consolidated, 
mmuities,  sweets  for  s/veetmeats,  sport  for  disport,  cat  for 
cat-o'-nine-taih. 

liecognized  colloquiulisms  are  Injpo  for  hypochondria^ 
or  sodium  hypophosphite,  pyro  for  pyroijallic  acid,  typo  for 
typographer,  phiz  for  physiognomy  (already  shortened  by 
the  Elizabethans  to  fisnomy  or  visnamy^,  coon  for  raccoon 
(from  Fr.  raton,  'rat'),  possum  for  opossum,  cute  for 
acute,  p)uh  for  p>uhlic  house,  cycle  for  hieycle,  fib  probably 
from  fihhle-fahhle  (a  reduplicated  form  oi  fable),  specs  for 
spectacles,  smalls  for  smallclothes,  phone  for  telephone,  sport 
for  spoi'tsman,  whip  for  whipper-in,  confab  for  confabidation, 
on  tick  from  ticket,  non  con  for  9?oyi  content  ^  (one  voting 
in  the  negative  in  the  House  of  Lords),  />/«t'  for  bluestock- 
ing, the  ?>^;/('.s  for  Z)?(tg  devils,  pike  for  turnpike,  chap  for 
chapman  ('  merchant,'   then   '  fellow  '),2  rickshaw  for  ^m- 

In  1710,  Swift,  in  the  Tatler  (No.  230),  complained  of 
the  '  continual  corruption  of  the  English  tongue '  in  an 
amusing  article  of  some  historical  importance.  He  in- 
veighs against  such  colloquial  clippings  as  Id,  can^t,  he's, 
shan't,  which  he  calls  '  abbreviations  and  elisions,  by 
wliich  consonants  of  most  obdurate  sound  are  joined 
together,  without  one  softening  vowel  to  intervene.' 
And  he  is  particularly  severe  on  '  the  refinement  which 
consists  in  pronouncing  the  first  syllable  in  a  word  that 
has  many,  and  dismissing  the  rest,  such  as  phizz,  hipps, 
mobb,  pozz,  rep,  and  many  more,  when  we  are  already 
overloaded  with  monosyllables,  which  are  the  disgrace  of 

mirth  of  certain  animals  we  usually  call  wags^  in  the  Tatler,  No.  184 
(June  13,  1710). 

1  Also,  formerly,  for  Non-confurmist. 

2  See  p.  287. 


SLANG   AND   LEGITIMATE  SPEECH  63 

our  lansruao^e.'  'Thus,'  continues  the  critic,  'we  cram 
one  syllable,  and  cut  off  the  rest,  as  the  owl  fattened  her 
mice  after  she  had  bit  off  their  legs  to  prevent  them  from 
running  away.'  Incoi/  and  ijlenipo  he  fears  will  suffer 
still  further  mutilation  to  inc  and  jw/t'^i.  Another  '  refine- 
ment '  is  '  the  choice  of  certain  words  invented  by  some 
pretty  fellows,  such  as  banter,  bamboozle,  country  put,  and 
kidney}  some  of  Avhich  are  now  struggling  for  the  vogue, 
and  others  are  in  possession  of  it.'  '  I  have  done  my 
utmost,'  he  adds,  '  for  some  years  past,  to  stop  the  progress 
of  mobb  and  banter,  but  have  been  plainly  borne  down  by 
numbers,  and  betrayed  by  those  who  promised  to  assist 
me.'  And  finally  he  is  worried  by  certain  young  clergy- 
men who  '  in  their  sermons  use  all  the  modern  terms 
of  art,  sham,  banter,  mob,  bubble,  bully,  cutting,  shuffling, 
and  palming.''  The  reader  will  be  interested  to  see  that 
about  half  of  the  terms  at  which  the  essayist  is  so  indig- 
nant have  made  good  their  position  as  respectable  collo- 
quialisms, and  that  several  of  them  are  quite  at  home  in 
dignified  composition. ^ 

The  clipping  process  is  a  natural  tendency  of  language. 
It  often  implies  familiarity,  and  has  given  us,  for  example, 
a  multitude  of  pet  names,  like  Will  and  Tom  and  Moll. 
Compare  doc  for  doctor,  prof  for  professor,  and  other  jocose 
or  vulgar  appellatives,  and  the  childish  fess  for  confess. 
The  so-called  'aphetic'  forms,  like  squire  for  esquire, 
bate  for  abate,  scape  for  escape,  pall  for  appall,  should 
also  be  considered.  A  very  curious  example  of  these  is 
our  common  adverb  down.     This  is  for  adown,  which  is  a 


1  In  such  phrases  as  a  '  man  of  that  kidney,^  i.e.  '  kind  '  or  '  disposition.' 
-  In  the  same  paper  Swift  stigmatizes  '  speculations,  operations,  pre- 
liminaries,   ambassadors,    pallisadoes,    communication,    circumvallation, 
battalions  '  as  neologisms  brought  into  common  use  by  the  war. 


64  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

corruption  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  phrase  of  dune,  '  from  the 
down  or  hill,'  used  of  descending  motion  (cf.  Ger.  hergah). 
Thus  we  have  in  English  the  noun  down,  meaning  'a  hill,' 
and  an  adverb  down,  derived  from  this  same  noun,  but 
suggesting  the  opposite  idea.  '  Down  in  the  valley '  is 
a  striking  instance  of  the  capa])ilities  of  language.  Size 
is  a  clipped  form  of  assize,  which  means  literally  'a  sit- 
ting '  (of  judges),  as  in  assizes,  and  comes  (througli  the 
French)  from  L.  assidere,  'to  sit  by.'  From  'judgment' 
or  '  determination '  to  '  allotment,'  '  allotted  portion,'  and 
thence  to  '  dimension,'  is  an  easy  passage.  Size  is  a  Cam- 
bridge University  term  for  an  '  allowance '  from  the 
buttery.  Goldsmith  was  a  sizar  at  Dublin,  i.e.  a  'charity- 
student'  (such  as  formerly  waited  on  the  Fellows'  table). 
Size,  '  glue,'  is  also  from  assideo  (through  Italian  sisn), 
being  that  which  makes  anything  '  sit  close  '  or  '  stick  '  to 
another.  A  much-docked  word  is  drake,  'male  duck.' 
The  history  of  drake  is  far  from  clear,  but  it  is  connected 
with  A.S.  ened,  'duck'  (cognate  with  L.  anas,  anatis'), 
of  which,  however,  it  preserves  only  the  single  letter  d 
(cf.  Ger.  EntericJi).  Wai/ward  is  shortened  from  away- 
ward,  hack  (the  adverb)  from  ahack,  vails  from  avails, 
quinsy  from  squinancy.^  Pose  is  from  appose  (for  oppose}, 
'  to  raise  objections,'  '  to  interrogate  '  or  '  examine  '  (in  a 
discussion)  ;  a  poser  was  an  '  examiner'  ;  p)uzzle  is  corrupted 
from  opposal. 

Slang  delights  in  fantastic  coinages  and  in  grotesque 
combinations  or  distortions  of  existing  words.  When  a 
whimsicality  of  this  kind  establishes  itself  as  a  permanent 
colloquialism,  or  gets  into  tlie  accepted  vocabulary,  the 
etymologist  has  a  hard  nut  to  crack.     Unless  the  early 

^  Fr.  esqidnancie  from  Gr.  Kwdyxv,  fnim  kvoiv,  kwos,  '  doiz;,'  and  S.yx'^i 
'choke.' 


SLANG   AND  LEGITIMATE  SPEECH  65 

history  of  the  word  is  known,  or  at  least  the  circum- 
stances under  which  it  came  into  use,  the  derivation  is 
often  an  insoluble  problem.  And  if  the  word  is  at  all 
old,  its  history  is  likely  to  be  obscure,  for  slang  seldom 
gets  into  print  until  it  has  been  in  circulation  for  some 
time. 

A  few  examples  of  such  linguistic  chimeras  will  now 
be  given. 

Bamboozle  was  a  new  slang  word  in  1710.  It  has  been 
thought  to  be  from  bam^  "•  to  hoax,'  a  slang  word  of  about 
the  same  date ;  but  bam  is  quite  as  likely  to  be  an  abbre- 
viation of  the  longer  form,  and  boozle  remains  unexplained. 
Banter  is  another  unsolved  puzzle.  It  was  at  least  forty 
years  old  when  Swift  attacked  it  in  the  Tatler,  in  1710. 
Sham  is  thought  to  be  an  affected  pronunciation  of  shame. 
Doggerel  is  first  found  in  Chaucer.  The  host  objects  to 
'  Sir  Thopas  '  as  '  rym  dogerel,'  using  the  term,  however,  as 
a  kind  of  quotation:  'This  may  wel  be  rym  dogerel,'  i.e. 
'This  must  l)e  the  rhyme  doggerel  that  I  liave  heard  tell 
of.'  The  etymology  is  quite  unknown,  but  it  is  hard 
to  reject  dog,  in  view  of  dog-Latin^  dog-logic,  and  the 
like. 

Cockney  is  almost  certainly  'cock-egg'  (M.E.  ey, 
''Q^g').  The  word  meant  at  first  an  unusually  small 
Qgg  (such  as  are  termed  in  New  England  litter-eggs, 
since  the  hen  is  thought  to  lay  one  at  the  end  of  her 
litter).  Thence  developed  the  meaning  of  a  'cockered 
child,'  a  '  pet,'  a  '  mother's  baby,'  or,  in  a  wider  sense,  a 
'milksop,'  and,  next,  'a  [pampered]  citizen'  (a  feeble 
'cit'  as  opposed  to  a  hardy  rustic).  Specifically,  it 
meant  'one  ignorant  of  country  matters,'  as  a  greenhorn 
is  one  who  knows  nothing  of  city  life.  Its  particular 
application    to    a    Londoner  was  then    natural,  and   was 


66  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

made  as  early  as  the  sixteenth  century.^  All  such  jocose 
or  abusive  names  for  the  inhabitants  of  particular  places 
or  countries  are  akin  to  slang,  if  not  of  out-and-out  slang 
origin.  So  Yankee  for  '  New  Englander,'  often  applied  by 
Englishmen  to  all  inhabitants  of  the  United  States ;  ^  I>a(jo 
for  Italian  ;  Paddy  for  Irishman  ;  Saivney  for  Scotchman  ; 
Gothamite  for  New  Yorker,  and  the  like.  Dago  is  a  queer 
misnomer.  It  must  come  from  the  Spanish  Diego,  yet  it  is 
usually  applied  to  Italians ;  but  slang  does  not  make  nice 
distinctions  of  blood  :  witness  the  contemptuous  use  of 
7iigger  for  many  dark-skinned  races  who  have  no  similarity 
to  the  negro  (so  blackamoor,  '  black  Moor,'  for  Ethiopian). 
Yankee  is  still  a  puzzle.  The  suggestion  that  it  is  for 
Yengees  or  the  like,  and  came  from  the  attempt  of  the  North 
American  Indians  to  pronounce  English  has  no  founda- 
tion in  the  history  of  the  word,  and  no  inherent  probability. 
Chouse  perhaps  goes  back  to  the  Sultan's  chaush,  or  official 
interpreter,  who  swindled  certain  Turkish  merchants  in 
London.  Blackguard  in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
centuries  was  a  term  for  the  scullions  and  other  similar 
menials  in  a  great  household,  as  well  as  for  the  camp- 
followers  in  an  arm}'.  Blackleg  was  slang  for  a  swindling 
'  frequenter  of  the  turf '  in  the  eighteenth  century.  Bully 
was  once  a  term  of  endearment,  and  has  been  connected 
with  German  Buhle,  '  lover,'  but  this  is  very  doubtful. 
Coxcoynh,  first  'fool,'  then  'fop,'-^  comes  from  the  imitation 

1  For  the  history  of  cockney  see  the  Oxford  Dictionary  as  corrected  and 
supplemented  by  Dr.  C.  T.  G.  Scott,  Trans.  Amer.  rhilol.  Assoc,  XXIII, 
20G  ff.  The  form  ney  for  ey,  '  egg,'  owes  its  n  to  the  indefinite  article  an 
{an  ey  becoming  a  ney)  ;  see  pp.  197-8. 

2  Cf.  Yankees  for  '  American  securities '  in  English  financial  cant,  like 
Kaffirs  and  Jungles  for  South  African  and  Indian  stocks,  respectively. 

3  Fop  also  meant  '  fool '  in  general,  but  was  afterward  specialized  to  a 
particular  kind  of  folly;  and  sot  has  a  similar  history,  though  here  the 
specialization  is  different. 


SLANG  AND  LEGITIMATE  SPEECH  67 

'cock's .comb'  which  adorned  the  cap  of  the  professional 
jester  in  Elizabethan  times.  Ragamuffin  has  something 
to  do  with  rag,  beyond  a  doubt.  It  occurs  (in  the  form 
Ragamofiyi)  as  the  name  of  a  devil  in  the  miracle-plays, 
—  and  devils  were  often  described  as  'ragged,'  that  is, 
'  shaggy,'  in  appearance.  Tlie  word  rag  is  related  to 
rug.  Nincompoop  is  a  distortion  of  7ioyi  compos  i7ie7itis. 
To  wheedle  is  literally  '  to  fawn,'  '  to  wag  the  tail,'  from 
Ger.  loedeln.  Chum  was  defined  in  1G90  as  'chamber- 
fellow,'  and  is  usually  regarded  as  a  corruption  of  this 
term,  but  evidence  is  lacking.  It  has  been  university 
slang  since  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century,  — 
and  in  168-4  Creech  dedicated  his  translation  of  Lucretius 
'  to  my  chum,  jNIr.  Hody  of  Wadham  College.' 

Bombast  is  'cotton-wadding'  (from  Gr.  ^o/x/Su^,  bumhux, 
'silk,'  through  Latin  and  French).  So  Prince  Hal  calls  Fal- 
staff  '  my  sweet  creature  of  bombast.'  Its  application  to  an 
inflated  style  is  an  obvious  jest,  and  is  first  found  in  Nashe 
(1589) :  '  the  swelling  bumbast  of  a  bragging  blank  verse. '^ 
It  is  not  likely  to  be  much  older  than  his  time.  Fustian, 
in  a  similar  sense,  is  of  about  the  same  age,  and  is  a  simi- 
larly jocose  application  of  the  name  of  the  coarse  stuff  so 
called.  The  word  is  supposed  to  be  derived  from  FustCit, 
i.e.  Cairo. ^ 

Cozen  has  usually  been  referred  to  coiisin,  and  the  French 
cousiner  favors  this  view.  Cotgrave,  in  1611,  defined  the 
French  verb  as  '  to  claim  kindred  for  advantage  .  .  .  ;  as 
he  who,  to  save  charges  in  travelling,  goes  from  house  to 
house,  as  cousin  to  the  owner  of  every  one.'     This  ety- 

1  For  bathos,  see  p.  40. 

2  So  the  Greeks  used  X-qKvdos  (lehtthos),  'an  oil-jar'  (swelling  in  the 
body)  for  a  'bombastic  style,'  whence  they  made  a  verb,  XrjKvdi^u) 
(lekiUhizo),  'to  write  fustian.'  Horace  translated  the  former  by  the 
Latin  ampulla,  and  coined  a  verb,  ampxilloi;  to  correspond. 


G8  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

mology  lias  been  doubted,  but  it  is  supported  l)y  a  fact 
wliicli  has  escaped  even  the  editors  of  the  Oxford  Dic- 
tionary. 'To  go  a-cousining- '  is  an  old-fashioned  New 
England  phrase  applied  to  one  who  quarters  himself  on 
his  distant  relatives.^ 

Cabal  for  an  'intrigue'  or  an  'intriguing  clique'  comes 
(through  the  French  and  mediaeval  Latin)  from  the 
Hebrew  word  for  '  tradition '  {quahbdldh'),  applied  espe- 
cially to  a  mystical  interpretation  of  the  Scriptures  (which 
we  have  borrowed  in  the  form  cabbala).  Its  sense  of 
'  political  machination '  was  strengthened  and  perpetuated 
by  its  special  application  to  Charles  IFs  '  Committee  for 
Foreign  Affairs,'  and  in  particular  to  five  members  of  that 
'cabinet  council'  whose  names  made  the  acrostic  cabal: 
Clifford,  Arlington,  Buckingham,  vlshley  (Shaftesbury^, 
iauderdale. 

Gerrymander  (with  hard  //)  is  a  capital  instance  of  the 
license  which  the  maker  of  slang  allows  himself.  It  is  an 
established  political  term  in  the  United  States  and  Canada^ 
for  the  '  redistricting '  of  a  state  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
give  a  particular  party  an  unfair  advantage  at  an  election. 
Such  a  measure  was  carried  in  Massachusetts  in  1812,  when 
Elbridge  Gerry  was  governor  of  the  Commonwealth. 
Some  clever  person  observed  that  one  of  the  newly  laid- 
out  districts  that  was  expected  to  insure  the  success  of 
the  governor's  party  took,  with  a  little  imagination,  the 
shape  of  a  fantastic  monster.  A  map  of  the  district  was 
published,  in  which  this  was  indicated,  and  the  monster 
was  dubbed  gerrymander.,  a  word  made  up  from    Gerry 

iThis  is  the  only  use  of  cozen  that  is  really  vernacular  in  this  country, 
where  the  habit  of  visiting  country  cousins  is  a  common  subject  for  satirical 
jest. 

2  In  Canada  and  the  West  the  hard  rj  has  been  softened  in  pronunciation. 


SLANG   AND  LEGITIMATE  SPEECH  69 

and  salamander.^  Usually  such  devices  hardly  survive 
the  campaign  that  produces  them,  —  but  the  gerrymander 
tickled  the  fancy  of  the  American  people,  and  the  word  is 
still  in  common  use,  both  as  a  noun  and  as  a  verb.  Slant- 
indieular,  a  jocose  amalgam  of  slantin  and  perjtendicida?' 
has  not  fared  quite  so  well. 

Even  such  lawless  coinages  as  gerrymayider  and  slantin- 
dicular  are  not  essentially  different  from  many  forms 
produced  by  the  ordinary  processes  of  language  (see 
Chapter  XXIII,  Folk-Etymology,  for  examples). 

It  is  a  favorite  device  of  slang  to  replace  a  common 
word  by  a  figurative  expression  or  by  some  word  that  is 
well  known  as  a  synonym  (or  partial  synonym)  for  the 
first,  but  in  another  sense.  Thus  '  He  had  i[\e  face  to  tell 
me '  becomes  '  the  cheek  to  tell  me '  ;  effrontery  becomes 
brass  (from  the  figurative  use  of  brazen)  ;  handcuffs  are 
bracelets;  a  j^reacher  is  a  sky -pilot;  hands  are  'pickers  and 
stealers?  A  man's  card  is  his  p)asteboard ;  to  be  hanged 
is  to  swing;  a  pocket  jlask  is  a  pocket  pistol;^  a  toivyi  is  a 
burgh;  money  is  cash  or  change;  dinner  table  is  mahogany^ 
and  so  on.  The  same  process  takes  place  with  slang 
words  themselves,  in  the  eager  desire  for  novelty.  The 
old  English  grit,  'sand,'  'gravel,'  came  to  be  applied  to 
the  special  grain  or  texture  of  grinding  stones,  on  which, 
in  fact,  their  efficacy  depends.  Thence  it  was  transferred, 
in  American  slang,  to  the  personal  qualities  of  courage, 
firmness,  and  endurance.     The  expressiveness  of  the  figure 

^  See  an  article  on  'The  Machinery  of  Politics  and  Proportional  Repre- 
sentation' by  W.  R.  Ware,  in  The  American  Law  Review,  VI,  '282-G 
(with  a  facsimile  of  the  original  gerrymander,  from  a  broadside,  p.  2S4). 

2 From  the  phrase  in  the  catechism,  'to  keep  my  hands  from  picking 
and  stealing.' 

3  From  Falstaff's  jest  in  the  First  Part  of  Henry  IV,  where  he  pnlls 
out  a  bottle  instead  of  a  pistol. 


70  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

won  general  acceptance  for  the  new  sense  both  in  the 
'country  of  its  origin'  and  in  Enghind.  Grit  seemed 
lost  to  the  slang  vocabulary.  At  all  events,  it  ceased  to 
be  novel  as  soon  as  it  became  respectable.  A  new  term 
was  straightway  introduced  to  replace  it,  —  sand,  which 
is  actually  a  synonym  of  grit  in  another  sense,  and  for  a 
time  '  He  has  plenty  of  sand '  was  a  common  expression 
among  speakers  of  the  slang  dialect. 

It  is  needless  to  remark  that  the  same  desire  for  novelty 
is  constantly  at  work  in  the  figurative  expressions  and 
new  coinages  of  legitimate  speech.  It  operates  more 
rapidly  in  slang,  and  with  less  regard  for  the  proprieties, 
but  the  general  law  is  the  same  in  both. 

Artistic  literature,  apart  from  the  mere  conveyance  of 
thought,  aims  to  cliarm  and  attract  the  reader  by  means 
of  an  agreeable  style ;  to  stimulate  his  attention  by  clever 
novelty,  and  even  sometimes  to  shock  him  into  thought 
by  grotesque  or  startling  language.  Thus  arise  a  host  of 
new  words,  most  of  which  soon  die,  but  some  of  which 
are  sure  to  find  their  place  in  the  general  vocabulary. 
And  thus  in  particular,  by  the  constant  striving  after 
more  delicate  and  subtle  effects,  there  come  into  existence 
new  distinctions  in  the  meanings  of  familiar  terms  which, 
if  they  serve  any  good  purpose,  are  pretty  sure  to  become 
permanent. 

Phrase-composition,  which  we  have  already  studied,  is 
alike  active  in  slang  and  in  law-abiding  speech.  Nicom- 
poop  (for  non  compos  mentis),  carouse  (for  gar  ausl),  and 
hoax  (from  hocus  pocus)  ^  were  all  slang  phrases.  Alarm 
(for  aW  arme!)  -Ami  jeopardy  (iov  jeu  parti)  are  of  digni- 
fied origin.  Frequently  the  fag-end  of  a  phrase  or  quota- 
tion obtains  currency  as  a  single  word  in  some  special 

1  See  p.  189  for  details. 


SLANG  AND  LEGITIMATE  SPEECH  7l 

sense.  Here  again  slang  and  propriety  join  hands. 
Propaganda  is  abbreviated  from  '  Congregatio  de  propa- 
ganda fide,'  a  '  committee  (of  cardinals)  for  propagating 
the  (Christian)  faith.'  Proimunire,  a  kind  of  writ,  is  a 
corruption  of  jyraemoneri  facias,  '  you  shall  cause  to  be 
forewarned.'  The  Porte  is  short  for  Suhlime  Porte. 
Parole,  for  'solemn  promise,'  is  a  clipped  form  of  parole 
dlionneur.  The  associations  of  these  terms  are  irre- 
proachable. In  formation,  however,  they  do  not  differ 
from  many  slangy  or  colloquial  expressions.  Thus 
factotum  is  for  Johannes  factotum,  '  John  do-all '  (cf .  jack- 
of-all-trades).  Amphitryon,  'host,'  is  from  Moliere's 
'rAmphitryon  on  Ton  dine.' ^  To  cldvy  or  chevij  is 
doubtless  Chevy  Qhace;  the  full  phrase  is  dialectic  as 
both  noun  and  verb.  Straiv,  for  '  slight  but  significant 
indication '  (common  in  American  political  cant),  is  from 
the  proverb,  '  Straws  show  which  way  the  wind  blows.' 
So  chaff,  '  banter,'  suggests  '  An  old  bird  is  not  caught 
with  chaff.'  Box,  'a  bad  predicament,'  is  from  'in  the 
wrong  box.'  Buncombe  is  the  name  of  a  county  in  North 
Carolina.  The  sense  of  '  ad  captandum  remarks '  or 
'  showy  verbiage,'  is  said  to  have  come  from  the  reply  of  a 
certain  congressman,  who  insisted  that  he  must  'make  a 
speech  for  Buncombe'  (i.e.  for  his  constituents  to  hear 
of)  on  an  occasion  when  the  House  of  Representatives 
was  eager  to  take  a  vote.  A  jingo,  for  '  one  who  favors 
an  aggressive  foreign  policy,'  comes  from  the  burlesque 
oath  by  jingo,  which  occurred  in  the  refrain  of  a  boister- 
ous political  song  current  in  England  during  the  Turko- 
Russian  War  of  1877-8.  The  word  has  recently  been 
transplanted  from  England  to  America,  where  it  is  applied 
(by  their  opponents)  to  those  who  are  also  styled  '  impe- 

^  lu  the  comedy  of  Amphitryon,  act  iii,  sccue  5. 


72  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

rialists,'  —  a  word  of  inevitably  bad  odor  in  a  repnblic,i 
though  inoffensive  in  an  empire.  We  may  leave  the  sub- 
ject with  an  example  from  the  sixteenth  century.  The 
Greek  Kyric  cleison,  '-  Lord,  have  mercy  upon  ns,'  was 
often  abbreviated  to  Kyrle.,  and  this  (as  well  as  the  full 
phrase)  was  once  a  familiar  vulgarism  for  a  'good  scold- 
mg.  - 

It  appears,  then,  that  there  is  no  real  difference  in  kind 
between  the  processes  of  slang  and  those  of  legitimate 
speech.  Slang  is  only  the  rude  luxuriance  of  the  nijcared- 
for  soil,  knowing  not  the  hand  of  the  gardener. 

Yet  it  by  no  means  follows  that  the  products  of  slang- 
are  at  once  to  be  adopted,  witliout  further  question.  In 
the  first  place,  all  human  speech,  even  the  most  intimate, 
is  intended  for  the  ears  of  others,  and  must  therefore  have 
a  certain  dignity,  a  certain  courtesy,  out  of  respect  to  one's 
hearers  if  not  to  one's  self.  Now  slang,  from  the  very  fact 
that  it  is  slang,  that  it  is  not  the  accepted  medium  of 
communication,  has  a  taint  of  impropriety  about  it  which 
makes  it  offensive.  Again,  the  very  currency  of  slang 
depends  on  its  allusions  to  things  which  are  not  supposed 
to  be  universally  familiar  or  generally  respectable ;  and 
hence  it  is  vulgar,  since  it  brings  in  associations  with  what 
is  for  the  moment  regarded  as  unknown  or  in  bad  repute. 

It  is  true  that  words  have  no  character  in  themselves, 
being  only  conventional  signs  for  the  ideas  which  they 
express.  Even  bad  grammar  is  essentially  just  as  good 
as  good  grammar ;  it  becomes  bad  merely  because  it  is 
associated  with  persons  that  we  dislike  or  look  down  on. 

1  Compare  the  Roman  dislike  to  rex. 

'-  See  Tyndale's  list  of  slang  phrases  from  church  terms  and  the  like, 
in  his  Obedience  of  a  Christian  Man  (Works  of  Tyndale  and  Frith,  ed. 
Kussell,  I,  340). 


SLANG  AND   LEGITIMATE  SPEECH  73 

And  bad  hiuguagc  is  only  such  because  it  is  not  the 
accepted  form  of  speech.  Yet  the  recognized  connota- 
tions of  particuhir  words  are  an  integral  part  of  expres- 
sion, and  when  these  are  such  as  to  shock  or  offend  our 
associates,  the  words  themselves  should  be  avoided. 

Furthermore,  the  accepted  means  of  communication  in 
any  widespread  language  has  a  certain  constant  and  endur- 
ing nature.  Though  language  is  ever  changing,  yet  the 
permanent  elements  far  outweigh  the  variable,  so  that  it 
remains  continuously  intelligible  through  long  periods  of 
time.  Slang  words,  on  the  contrary,  are  evanescent,  count- 
ing their  duration  by  days  instead  of  decades,  and  becom- 
ing obsolete  even  while  one  is  speaking  them.  Hence 
slang  is  ill-adapted  to  serve  as  a  medium  of  intercourse 
and  therefore  is  unsuitable  for  adoption  into  legitimate 
speech. 

Finally,  the  unchecked  and  habitual  use  of  slang  (even 
polite  slang)  is  deleterious  to  the  mind.  Not  only  is  slang 
evanescent,  —  it  also  has  no  fixed  meaning.  Its  terms 
are  vague  and  ill-defined,  and  they  grow  more  and  more 
uncertain  from  day  to  day.  Thus  the  use  of  slang  tends 
to  level  all  those  nice  distinctions  of  meaning,  all  those 
differentiations  between  word  and  word,  which  the  con- 
sensus of  the  language  has  been  at  so  much  pains  to  build 
up.  Everything  is  '  fine  ! '  or  '  immense  ! '  or  '  stunning  ! ' 
or  '  just  gay  ! '  from  an  appetizing  breakfast  to  an  epic 
poem,  from  Alpine  scenery  to  the  cut  of  a  friend's  coat. 
Slang  has  been  called  the  'lazy  man's  dialect,'  and  if  the 
sign  of  cultivation  is  an  enriched  vocabulary,  the  constant 
use  of  vacfue  and  unselected  terms  for  every  shade  of 
meaning  must  gradually  reduce  one's  thouglit  to  the  same 
ignorant  level  from  which  most  slang  proceeds.  When 
such  a  word  becomes  definite  in  its  meaning,  it  has  almost 


74  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

ceased  to  be  slang.  If  it  happens  to  till  a  real  gap  in  our 
means  of  expression,  language  will  take  care  of  it,  as  we 
have  already  seen  in  numerous  examples.  In  fact,  any- 
thing that  is  good  in  slang  is  almost  sure  to  be  picked  up 
and  adopted  in  legitimate  speech. 

Of  course,  all  slang  is  not  on  the  same  level.  There 
are  many  grades,  from  that  whicli  is  innocent  and  almost 
refined  in  its  associations,  to  the  odious  coinages  of  a 
debased  stage.  It  is  often  humorous,  sometimes  witty, 
and  not  seldom  picturesque.  The  objections  just  urged 
hold  good  against  its  habitual  employment  as  an  extensive 
part  of  one's  vocabulary.  The  discriminating  use  of  a 
slang  term,  now  and  then,  on  occasion,  is  a  different  mat- 
ter. As  we  have  already  seen,  every  educated  person 
speaks  his  mother  tongue  in  at  least  two  ways,  and  the 
difference  between  the  dignified  and  the  colloquial  style  is 
considerable.  Slang  words  frequently  rise  to  the  rank  of 
colloquialisms,  and  thus  in  time  gain  admission  to  the  more 
formal  language.  '  To  hit  straight  from  the  shoulder,'  '  I 
feel  rather  below  par,'  '  the  new  woman,'  '  a  boodle  alder- 
man,' 'to  floor  a  man,'  'I  was  flal)bergasted,'  have  crossed 
the  line  and  are  admissible  colloquialisms.  '  Hit  or  miss,' 
'nip  and  tuck,'  'tooth  and  nail,'  'by  hook  or  crook,'  'sink 
or  swim,'  '  rough-and-ready,'  '  higgledy-piggledy,'  have 
passed  through  tlie  colloquial  stage  and  are  recognized 
idioms,  though  their  form  or  sound,  or  something  of  their 
old  associations,  tends  to  exclude  them  from  serious  con- 
texts. 

One  further  distinction  is  necessary.  A  word  or  phrase 
which  is  slangy  in  general  conversation  stands  in  quite  a 
different  position  when  it  is  used  in  a  limited  circle,  or 
under  special  circumstances.  '  Horsey '  words  are  not 
slang  when  one  is  'talking  horse,'  nor  hunting  terms  in 


SLANG   AND   LEGITIMATE  SPEECH  75 

the  hunting  field,  nor  the  cant  phrases  of  politics  on  the 
hustings  or  on  the  stump.  They  belong  rather  to  the 
category  of  jargons,  or  technical  dialects,  and  are  com- 
parable to  the  special  vocabularies  of  commerce,  or  medi- 
cine, or  the  law.  It  is  only  when  they  leave  the  technical 
circle,  and  are  applied  in  a  general  way,  that  they  become 
out-and-out  slang,  and  this  would  be  just  as  true  of  scien- 
tific or  legal  terms  under  similar  circumstances.  Here 
again  there  are  grades  of  slanginess,  in  inverse  proportion 
to  the  dignity  of  the  associations  which  the  words  suggest. 
'  To  mortgafie  one's  reputation '  is  as  essentially  a  slang 
phrase  as  '  to  be  knocked  out  in  an  examination,'  but  there 
is  a  considerable  difference  in  the  vulgarity  of  the  expres- 
sions. '  To  come  a  cropper '  may  l)e  said  to  stand  midway 
between  the  two.  '  At  fault '  (from  a  dog  that  loses  the 
scent)  is  a  dignified  idiom. 

Again,  an  expression  that  is  unquestionably  slang  may 
be  so  apt  and  necessary  in  the  discussion  of  a  particular 
subject,  and  so  often  quoted  by  the  best  writers,  that  it 
loses  its  taint  and  becomes  a  part  of  our  common  stock  of 
quotations.  Then  the  presence  or  absence  of  quotation 
marks  is  only  a  matter  of  greater  or  less  familiarity,  and 
eventually  all  feeling  of  quotation  may  disappear.  The 
readiest  admission  to  legitimate  speech  lies  through  our 
freedom  in  quoting  from  any  source,  good  or  bad.  For 
when  an  expression  is  found  in  respectable  company,  the 
public  seldom  cares  to  ask  how  it  got  there.  Not  long 
ago  the  very  vulgar  slang  phrase  '  rusli  the  growler '  was 
quoted  in  a  dignified  and  irreproachable  article  in  a  daily 
newspaper.  It  Avas  used  in  a  kind  of  technical  sense,  and, 
more  than  that,  it  had  exactly  the  connotations  that  the 
writer  desired.  A  score  of  such  references  might  make 
the  reader  forget  that  this  most  objectionable  expression 


76  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

ever  was  slang,  or  had  any  offensive  associations.  In  this 
manner  many  words  have  made  their  way  into  the  literary 
language.  The  Elizabethan  drama,  for  instance,  has  pre- 
served and  propagated  many  such  expressions,  for  in  a 
play  every  speech  is,  in  a  manner,  a  quotation. 

The  slang  of  the  United  States  differs  in  many  particu- 
lars from  that  of  Great  Britain,  and  India  and  Australia 
show  a  multitude  of  peculiar  coinages  that  differ  from 
both.  Yet  the  lively  intercourse  of  trade  and  travel,  the 
newspapers,  the  theatrical  '  tour,'  and  the  '  dialect  sketch ' 
have  kept  the  different  English-speaking  peoples  tolerably 
familiar  with  one  another's  latest  coinages.  For  univer- 
sal hospitality  is  the  guiding  principle  of  slang. 

The  bewildering  variety  of  our  language,  and  in  [)articu- 
lar  the  lawless  and  fantastic  coinages  which  we  have  just 
been  studying,  may  well  suggest  the  question,  '  Is  there 
any  ci'iterion  of  good  English  ?  What  principle  of  selec- 
tion is  one  to  follow  who  wishes  to  speak  and  write  his 
mother  tongue  with  purity  and  without  affectation?'  It 
is  the  business  of  grammar,  rhetoric,  and  lexicography  to 
answer  this  question. 

As  soon  as  a  literary  language  is  thoroughly  developed, 
it  becomes  a  subject  of  earnest  study.  Literature,  like 
painting  or  music,  has  a  technique,  and  it  is  the  province 
of  critics  and  rhetoricians  to  describe  this  technique,  and 
to  reduce  its  principles  and  its  details  to  a  form  in  which 
they  may  be  conveniently  acquired.  Such  principles  are 
inferred,  in  the  main,  from  the  works  of  men  of  genius, 
but  they  soon  become,  so  far  as  they  are  correct,  funda- 
mental conventions  of  expression,  which  must  be  followed 
by  everybody  Avho  would  make  himself  immediately  in- 
telligible. So  long  as  a  language  is  alive,  it  is,  however, 
constantly  changing,  so  that  the  grammar  and  rhetoric  of 


SLANG   AND   LEGITIMATE  SPEECH  77 

a  living  language  can  never  be  absolutely  fixed.  It  is 
only  when  the  language  has  ceased  to  be  spoken,  —  has 
become,  as  we  say,  a  dead  language,  —  that  fixed  rules  can 
be  framed  which  every  one  who  undertakes  to  write  it 
must  observe.  The  very  statement  that  a  language  is 
dead  implies  that  henceforward  no  individual  or  body  of 
persons  has  power  to  change  it  in  any  particular. 

Now  all  rules  of  grammar  and  rhetoric  must  be  based 
on  usage,  for  there  is  no  other  standard  in  linguistic 
matters  ;  and  in  order  that  they  may  be  capable  of  intel- 
ligible statement,  the  usage  from  which  they  are  derived 
must  be  limited  in  time.  Yet  at  the  very  moment  when  the 
rules  are  committed  to  writing,  usage  is  shifting ;  for  lan- 
guage never  stands  still  until  it  ceases  to  move  altogether. 
Hence  the  codified  principles  of  literary  expression  will 
always  be  slightly  behind  the  actual  usage  of  one's  con- 
temporaries. In  other  words,  we  are  here  dealing  with 
conservative  forces  which  tend  to  retard  the  naturally 
rapid  changes  of  speech.  Conservatism  always  implies 
distrust  of  that  which  is  new,  however  good  it  may  be ; 
and  teaching  implies  not  only  docility  on  the  part  of  the 
learner,  but  some  dogmatism  on  the  part  of  the  instructor. 
Unless  a  man  thinks  he  knows  something,  it  is  useless  for 
him  to  teach  it,  just  as  it  is  idle  for  a  boy  to  go  to  school 
who  thinks  he  has  nothing  to  learn.  When  dogmatic  con- 
servatism in  language  goes  farther  than  is  reasonable,  we 
call  it  'purism,'  and  stigmatize  its  disciples  as  'purists.' 
Everybody,  however,  who  speaks  or  writes  with  any  care 
must  be  a  purist  in  some  degree,  for  we  all  have  our  pet 
aversions  in  matters  of  vocabulary  and  construction. 
Both  the  purist  and  the  innovator  are  necessary  factors 
in  the  development  of  a  cultivated  tongue.  Without 
the  purist  our  language  would  change  with  extravagant 


78  WORDS  AND   TTIEIll    WAYS 

rapidity;  our  vocabulaiy,  for  example,  would  give  daily 
hospitality  to  hosts  of  new  words  which  have  nothing  but 
whim  to  justify  tlieui,  and  which  would  he  soon  super- 
seded hy  eipially  lawless  fornuitions.  Without  the  inno- 
vator t>ur  language  would  come  to  a  dead  stop,  so  far  as 
literary  expression  is  concerned,  and  in  a  short  time  the 
speech  of  books  would  have  lagged  so  far  behind  the 
speech  of  conversation  that  the  two  would  form  dilTerent 
dialects.  The  history  of  any  literary  language  is,  then, 
a  record  of  successive  compromises  and  readjustments 
betwt'cn  the  old  and   the  new. 

A  novel  wortl  or  phrase  which  has  not  yet  secured  un- 
questioned admission  into  the  standard  dialect  is  called  a 
■)U'olo</is))i,  wliich  is  simply  a  (Ireek  term  for  a  'new  form 
of  speech.'  'i'liere  is  no  test  but  time.  If  a  neologism 
seems  to  most  speakers  to  supply  a  lack  in  the  language, 
or  to  be  peculiarly  lit  for  the  expression  of  some  special 
idea,  it  is  sure  to  maintain  itself  against  the  protests  of 
the  literary  and  scholastic  guild. 

On  the  other  hand,  nothing  can  force  a  new  term  into 
any  language  against  the  inclination  of  a  large  majority  of 
those  wdio  speak  it.  The  lield  of  language  is  strewn  with 
the  dry  bones  of  adventurous  words  which  once  started 
out  with  the  paternal  blessing  to  make  their  fortune,  but 
which  have  met  with  an  untimely  end,  and  serve  only, 
when  collected,  to  till  the  shelves  of  a  lexicographical 
museum.  Some  3'ears  ago,  Avhen  the  annexation  of  a  large 
tract  of  territory  to  the  United  States  was  discussed, 
Charles  Sumner  endeavored  to  revive  the  obsolete  word 
annexion  in  place  of  this  somewhat  cumbrous  term. 
Sumner's  position  as  an  orator,  a  man  of  culture,  and  a 
statesman  seemed  to  insure  the  favorable  reception  of  this 
convenient  form,  but  all  these  influences  were  of  no  avail. 


r.LASG  ASJj    Lf/.iriMATE  HI' £7/111  79 

For  a  year  or  two  annexion  wm  seen  in  the  newspapers 
occasionally,  but  to  most  of  the  present  generation  it  is 
as  unknown  as  the  eccentric  ink-horn  terms  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan age.* 

-   "  nfeT'/i  speech  on  tlie  Cesfgi/m  of  Rossian  Ame-rica  I'WiTj,  an/l 
al«^> .Mfi'ropfj^ed  Annexion  of  the  Island  of  San  iJomlngo,  1870, 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    LITERARY    LANGUAGE 

The  language  which  all  educated  users  of  English 
speak  and  write  is  in  one  sense  an  artificial  tongue.  It 
is  what  is  called  a  '  literary  language '  as  distinguished 
from  the  unstudied  speech  of  peoples  whose  mother 
tongue  comes  to  them  without  the  influence  of  literature 
or  the  schools.  This  '  literary  language '  is  not  confined 
to  cultivated  speakers.  It  is  the  common  property  of  all 
but  the  absolutely  illiterate,  the  regular  medium  of  com- 
munication throughout  the  English-speaking  world.  Dif- 
ferent persons  speak  and  write  this  standard  English  with 
different  degrees  of  correctness  and  elegance,  and  there 
are  local  and  national  varieties  in  idiom  and  pronunciation 
which  distinscuish  the  English  of   Eno'land  from  that  of 

O  CD  <J 

America  or  of  Australia.  But  such  differences  bear  no 
proportion  to  the  substantial  uniformity  of  English  speech. 
What  is  the  origin  of  standard  or  literary  English,  which 
most  of  us  take  for  granted  as  if  it  had  existed  from  the 
beginning?  The  question  is  complicated,  but  the  clew  is 
easy  to  catch  and  to  follow  :  it  consists  in  the  single  word 
'dialect.' 

It  is  natural  for  a  person  whose  knowledge  of  English 
conforms  in  the  main  to  the  literary  or  standard  type  to 
regard  the  dialect  of  Yorkshire  or  of  Dorset  as  a  degraded 
form  of  his  own  speech.  Such  an  impression,  however,  is 
quite  erroneous.  The  Yorkshireman's  dialect  is  not  a  de- 
based form  of  standard  English.    On  the  contrary,  standard 

8Q 


THE  LITERARY  LANGUAGE  81 

English  is  merely  a  cultivated  form  of  a  dialect  which 
originally  had  no  more  claim  to  be  regarded  as  the  general 
language  of  all  England  than  the  dialect  of  Yorkshire  has 
to-day.  In  other  words,  —  a  dialect  is  not  a  degraded 
literary  language  ;  a  literary  language  is  an  elevated 
dialect. 

The  piratical  marauders  who  in  the  fifth  and  sixth 
centuries  effected  the  Anglo-Saxon  Conquest  of  Britain 
belonged  to  three  or  four  different  tribes  and  spoke  as 
many  dialects.  These  dialects,  however,  were  very  simi- 
lar, and  their  variety  did  not  interfere  with  mutual  under- 
standing. We  may  call  them  collectively  '  Anglo-Saxon,' 
but  we  must  remember  that  at  this  period  there  was  no 
standard  Anglo-Saxon  language  in  the  sense  in  which 
there  is  to-day  a  standard  French  or  German.  Each  of 
our  predatory  ancestors  spoke  his  own  dialect  with  great 
satisfaction  to  himself  and  without  considering  whether  it 
was  better  or  worse  than  that  of  a  shipmate  Avho  belonged 
to  a  neighboring  tribe.  Taken  collectively,  Anglo-Saxon 
was  most  nearly  related  to  Old  Frisian,  the  ancestor  of 
the  dialects  still  spoken  in  the  Frisian  Islands.  It  was 
also  near  akin  to  the  Old  Saxon,  the  ancestor  of  Modern 
Plattdeutsch ;  and  to  Old  Frankish,  the  ancestor  of  Dutch 
and  Flemish.  Its  relation  to  the  Scandinavian  languages 
and  to  the  High  German  dialects  was  more  remote.^ 

Of  the  three  tribes  who  played  important  parts  in  the 
Anglo-Saxon  Conquest,  the  Angles  occupied  the  northern 
and  central  part  of  England  and  extended  their  conquest 
to  the  lowlands  of  Scotland.  The  southern  part  of  Britain 
fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Saxons.  The  small  but  rich 
domain  of  Kent  remained  the  possession  of  tlie  Jutes. 
The  seventh  century  finds  the  conquest  completed,  and 

iCf.  pp.  159,  IG.-]. 

G 


82  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

the  new  lords  of  the  soil  settled  substantially  in  accord- 
ance with  these  boundaries.  They  had  no  written  lan- 
guage. Yet  we  must  not  infer  that  their  several  dialects 
had  received  no  literary  cultivation.  Oral  literature 
always  precedes  writing,  so  that,  when  the  art  of  writing 
is  finally  introduced,  there  awaits  it  a  considerable  body 
of  poetry,  ready  to  be  taken  down  and  perpetuated.  Thus 
the  Angles  and  Saxons  had  a  great  quantity  of  heroic 
song,  for  which  they  had  developed  an  elaborate  metre 
and  a  peculiarly  complicated  style,  quite  different  from 
that  of  their  habitual  language.  Observe,  however,  that 
at  the  time  of  which  we  are  speaking,  no  one  of  the  various 
dialects  spoken  in  Britain  had  a  title  to  preeminence. 

We  have  no  written  documents  in  these  dialects  until 
the  eighth  century,  when  Britain  had  been  in  the  hands 
of  its  new  masters  for  two  or  three  hundred  years.  Pre- 
sumably, the  various  dialects  had  grown  apart  during  this 
time  ;  for  Angles,  Saxons,  and  Jutes  were  more  widely 
separated  in  their  new  home  than  they  had  been  on  the 
continent,  and  their  little  kingdoms  were  always  at  war. 
Yet  in  the  eighth  century  the  differences  had  not  yet 
become  great  enough  to  make  the  dialects  mutually  unin- 
telligible. They  may  be  divided  into  (1)  Northumbrian, 
the  language  of  the  kingdom  of  Northumbria,  includ- 
ing the  north  of   England  and  the  south   of  Scotland ; 

(2)  Saxon,   spoken  throughout    the   south   of    England  ; 

(3)  Mercian,  spoken  in  the  kingdom  of  Mercia,  corre- 
sponding to  the   midland   counties  of  the  present  day ; 

(4)  Kentish,  spoken  by  the  Jutes  of  Kent,  The  North- 
umbrian and  the  Mercian  were  Ansflian  dialects.  The 
men  of  Kent  spoke  Jutish,  and  the  Saxon  was,  as  its  name 
implies,  the  language  of  the  Saxon  contingent  of  the 
original    invaders.     Within  each   of  the   territories  thus 


THE  LITER  An  Y  LANGUAGE  83 

defined  there  was  considerable  divergency  of  speech,  but 
this  may  be  neglected  in  a  general  survey. 

The  first  dialect  that  could  lay  claim  to  literary  prece- 
dence was  the  Northumbrian  (the  language  of  Caidmon 
and  the  Venerable  Bede),  which,  in  the  eighth  century, 
seemed  in  a  fair  way  to  set  the  standard  for  the  English 
tongue.  But  the  fall  of  Northumbria  from  its  political 
supremacy  and  the  rise  of  the  southern  kingdom  of  Wes- 
sex  completely  changed  the  situation.  Northumbrian 
sank  once  more  to  the  position  of  a  provincial  dialect, 
and  under  King  Alfred,  in  the  ninth  century,  the  West 
Saxon  dialect  put  in  a  strong  claim  to  be  regarded  as  the 
literary  language.  Meantime,  however,  the  name  Eng- 
lish^ that  is,  'Anglian,'^  had  associated  itself  inseparably 
with  tlie  idea  of  any  literary  form  of  the  vernacular.  The 
Northumbrians  had  called  their  tongue  '  English  '  because 
it  ivas  English,  —  that  is,  Anglian.  The  Saxons  of  Wessex 
applied  the  same  term  to  their  own  non-Anglian  literary 
tongue. 

From  King  Alfred  to  the  Battle  of  Hastings  is  about 
two  hundred  years.  In  this  time  literary  English  (the 
West  Saxon  dialect)  had  made  great  strides  and  seemed 
far  more  likely  to  become  the  universal  speech  of  English- 
men than  Northumbrian  had  seemed  three  centuries  before. 
If  this  development  had  not  been  violently  interrupted, 
we  should  nowadays  be  speaking,  in  all  probability,  a 
language  very  similar  to  the  Dutch.  It  was  interrupted, 
as  everybod)'  knov/s,  by  the  Norman  Conquest. 

The  effect  of  the  Norman  Conquest  on  the  history  of 
our  language  is  frequently  misunderstood.     The  Normans 

^  £'??T//^  means  'Angles,'  and  Eufilisr,  'Anglian.'  The  initial  ^  shows' 
'  nnilaut '  of  an  older  <i.  England  is  Enrjla  (genitive  plural)  land,  'the 
country  of  the  Angles.' 


84  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

were  superior  to  the  English  in  chivalric  manners;  but  the 
English  surpassed  them  in  learning  and  in  literary  culture 
of  the  vernacular.  The  English  of  the  year  1050  was  not 
a  rude,  harsh-sounding  jargon,  but  a  highly  developed 
language,  with  a  copious  vocabulary  and  an  abundant 
literature  in  prose  and  verse.  There  is  no  evidence  that 
the  Normans  despised  the  English  language,  and  they 
certainly  made  no  attempt  to  crush  it.  They  talked  a 
dialect  of  French,  and  no  doubt  they  had  no  expectation 
of  giving  up  their  patois  ;  but  they  had  no  wish  to  impose 
it  on  any  one  else.  A  far-seeing  philosophical  historian 
might,  indeed,  have  foretold  that  either  French  or  English 
would  have  to  prevail  in  the  long  run.  .  But  such  a  phi- 
losopher would  have  had  no  doubt  which  of  the  two  lan- 
guages would  survive.  The  Normans  had  already  given  up 
their  native  Scandinavian  in  favor  of  French,  and  they 
were  heavily  outnumbered  by  the  English.  The  result 
was  inevitable.  It  cannot  have  occurred  to  any  Norman 
that  his  language  was  to  become  the  vernacular  tongue  in 
Great  Britain.  It  certainly  never  occurred  to  any  Eng- 
lishman that  his  own  language  was  likely  to  ])ecome 
extinct. 

What  the  Norman  Conquest  did  was  not  to  break  up 
or  confuse  our  language  by  coming  into  direct  conflict 
with  it,  but  simply  to  interrupt  the  literary  tradition  of 
the  English  tongue.  At  the  time  of  the  Battle  of  Hast- 
ings, the  West  Saxon  dialect  was  the  accepted  literary 
language,  and,  although  it  was  not  yet  in  general  use 
throughout  the  island,  it  was  nevertheless  in  a  strong 
position  with  reference  to  such  an  extension  of  its  influ- 
ence. With  the  coming  of  the  Normans,  this  dialect  fell 
from  its  pinnacle.  French  became  the  language  of  the 
court  and  of  high  society,  not  because  the  court  despised 


TUE  LITERARY  LANGUAGE  85 

English,  but  because  the  court  consisted  of  French-speak- 
ing Normans.  There  was  no  longer  any  encouragement 
for  the  cultivation  of  the  special  West  Saxon  form  of 
English  at  the  hands  of  scholars  and  poets.  Hence  when 
any  Englishman  wrote  in  the  vernacular  after  the  Norman 
dominion  became  established,  he  used  his  own  local  dialect, 
without  regard  to  the  standards  of  West  Saxon  that  had 
existed  before  the  Conquest.  In  other  words,  the  Norman 
Conquest  put  the  dialects  of  England  once  more  on  their 
mettle.  West  Saxon  was  reduced  to  the  rank  which 
it  had  occupied  before  the  days  of  Alfred,  and  it  was 
again  an  open  question  which  of  the  three  great  dialects 
(Northumbrian,  Mercian,  and  Saxon)  should  become  the 
literary  language  of  the  English  race.^ 

No  doubt  the  speech  of  Normandy  (the  Norman  French) 
exerted  a  certain  amount  of  direct  influence  on  the 
grammar  and  vocabulary  of  our  language,  but  this  influ- 
ence was  much  smaller  than  is  generally  supposed.  The 
decay  of  inflections,  which  is  one  of  the  distinguishing 
marks  of  modern  English,  had  begun  before  the  Normans 
came.  It  was  accelerated  by  the  Conquest,  but  only  in 
an  indirect  wa3s  through  the  break  in  literary  tradition 
already  referred  to.  A  similar  decay  has  taken  place  in 
Dutch  and  in  Danish,  which  were  never  subjected  to  a 
Norman  Conquest,  and  it  must  be  regarded  as  a  natural 
tendency  of  our  language.  Some  words  were  borrowed 
from  Norman  French,  but  not  enough  to  color  the  vocabu- 
lary to  a  perceptible  degree.  In  short,  the  two  languages 
lived  amicably  side  by  side  for  about  two  hundred  years, 
neither  affecting   the    other   essentially.      Indeed,    every 

1  Of  course,  the  conditions  of  tlie  problem  were  not  appreciated  in  the 
Middle  Ages.  Such  movements  as  we  are  studying  can  be  surveyed  only 
from  the  vantage-grouud  of  centuries. 


86  WORDS   AND    rUEIR    WAYS 

Student  of  Anglo-Norman  knows  that  the  French  of  the 
invaders  suffered  ahnost  as  much  as  the  English  of  the 
conquered.  In  1154  the  Count  of  Anjou  became  Idng  of 
England.  At  the  beginning  of  tlie  thirteenth  century 
Normandy  was  lost  to  the  English  crown.  This  loss  had 
important  results.  Henceforth  the  specific  influence  of 
Norman  French  upon  the  English  language  was  very  slight 
indeed,  —  hardly  appreciable.  In  the  latter  part  of  the 
thirteenth  century  and  throughout  the  fourteenth,  Eng- 
lishmen were  vigorously  engaged  in  translating  and  adapt- 
ing French  literature.  Their  models,  however,  were  not 
Norman  French,  in  the  main,  nor  was  their  activity  con- 
nected with  the  Conquest  or  with  the  fact  that  the  ruling 
chiss  was  of  Norman  descent.  The  same  translation  and 
adaptation  took  place  in  Germany,  and  even  to  some  ex- 
tent in  Norway.  Central  or  Parisian  French  was  now  the 
recognized  standard  on  the  Continent,  and  the  French  of 
the  English  court  was  not  Norman,  but  as  good  Parisian 
French  as  the  nobility  could  muster.  Moreover,  by  the 
first  quarter  of  the  fourteenth  century,  many  of  the  de- 
scendants of  tlie  Normans  had  lost  their  French  and  were 
speaking  English  like  their  Saxon  neighbors. 

Everybody  knows  that  modern  English  contains  thou- 
sands of  French  words.  We  can  hardly  utter  a  sentence 
without  using  one.  Yet  comparatively  few  of  these  are 
derived  from  Norman  French.  Wholesale  borrowing 
began  about  1300  and  continued  for  two  hundred  years, 
and  the  same  process  has  gone  on  ever  since,  but  in  a 
more  limited  way.  But  most  of  our  French  words,  from 
1300  to  1900,  have  come  not  from  the  dialect  of  the 
Normans,  but  from  Central  or  Parisian  French,  —  the 
recognized  literary  standard. 

All  this  borrowing,  however,  signified  not  the  victory 


THE  LlTERAltY  LANGUAGE  87 

of  French,  but  the  triumph  of  English  as  the  vernacuhir 
lanCTuaofe  of  Great  Britain.  Normans  were  Normans  no 
longer,  but  Englishmen.  The  Normans  were  greatly  out- 
numbered by  the  Saxons.  They  had  long  ceased  to  speak 
the  Norman  dialect ;  though  many  of  them  still  regarded 
French  as  their  mother  tongue,  and  talked  the  Parisian 
dialect  as  well  as  they  could,  as  Englishmen  still  do.  As 
for  the  Saxon  element  in  the  population,  they  had  [)lacidly 
gone  on  speaking  English,  in  various  dialects,  and  in  the 
long  run  the  aristocracy  were  obliged  to  follow  their  lead. 
There  was  no  death-struggle  between  two  hostile  lan- 
guages, as  many  writers  have  imagined.  Everything 
proceeded  in  the  simplest  and  most  natural  way.  In  the 
usual  course  of  events,  a  man  can  have  but  one  mother 
tongue.  The  great  majority  of  the  population  were  con- 
tent with  English,  which  was  therefore  indispensable  to 
the  minority  as  well.  A  man  might  learn  French  if  he 
liked,  but  he  had  to  know  English  anyway.  The  result 
was  that  by  1400  the  language  of  England  was  English, 
and  French  was  what  it  is  now,  —  the  accomplishment  of 
a  limited  class. 

Meantime,  what  is  to  be  said  of  the  English  'literary 
language"?  From  shortly  after  the  Norman  Conquest  up 
to  the  year  1300  there  was  no  such  thing.  The  English 
dialects  were  now  so  far  apart  that  a  Southerner  could 
hardly  understand  a  man  from  the  Northern  Counties. 
The  Midlands  occupied  an  intermediate  position  in  lan- 
guage as  well  as  geographically.  The  Northern  dialect 
(the  descendant  of  the  old  Northumbrian),  some  of  the 
Southern  dialects  (the  descendants  of  the  Saxon),  and  at 
least  two  forms  of  the  Midland  dialect  (the  descendant 
of  the  Mercian)  had  gradually  risen  to  the  position  of 
respectable  literary  tongues,  but  no  one  of  them  could 


88  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

claim  precedence  over  any  other.  Ever3^tliing  pointed 
to  the  end  of  the  fourteenth  century  as  the  time  for  the 
o-reat  decision.  What  was  needed  was  a  dialect  that  was 
widely  intelligible  and  that  was  already  the  habitual  lan- 
guage of  certain  powerful  elements  in  the  state.  The 
East  JNlidland  seemed  to  meet  the  requirements.  It  was 
the  dialect  of  London,  of  the  court,  —  when  the  court 
spoke  English, —  of  Oxford.  It  was  the  dialect  in  which 
Wyclif  made  his  translation  of  the  Bible,  and,  finally,  it 
was  the  dialect  in  which  Chaucer,  the  Londoner,  naturally 
wrote. 

There  is  an  active  revolt  nowadays  against  the  thesis 
that  Chaucer  'made  the  English  language.'  Some  of  the 
most  recent  investigators  of  our  linguistic  history  have 
even  neerlected  to  mention  him  at  all  in  this  connection. 
Yet  there  is  much  truth  in  the  discredited  old  dictum, 
however  absurdly  it  has  sometimes  been  interpreted.  To 
appreciate  the  facts,  we  must  look  for  a  moment  at  the 
posture  of  affairs  in  the  latter  half  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury,—  or,  say,  from  1340  to  1400,  the  accepted  term  of 
Chaucer's  life.  For  it  was  within  these  sixty  years  that 
the  East  Midland  dialect  attained  the  rank  of  the  Eng- 
li^i  literary  language, — a  position  which  it  has  never 
lost. 

It  was  an  age  of  intense  activity,  —  a  singularly  '  modern ' 
time.  One  is  tempted  to  say  that  all  the  problems  that  vex 
the  world  to-day  either  came  into  existence  or  manifested 
themselves  with  peculiar  force  within  these  sixty  years. 
At  all  events,  there  is  scarcely  a  political  or  social  catch- 
word of  the  present  which  cannot  be  applied  to  affairs  in 
the  fourteenth  century.  '  Labor  '  was  giving  trouble  in  a 
dozen  ways.  The  Black  Death  had  greatly  reduced  the 
number  of  farm-hands  throughout  the  country.     The  sur- 


THE  LITERARY  LANGUAGE  89 

vivors,  once  little  better  than  serfs,  asserted  themselves  in 
a  manner  that  alarmed  the  landed  proprietors  and  prompted 
some  futile  legislation.     There  was  the  Jacqueine  or  Peas- 
ants' Insurrection  in  France.      In  England  there  were  the 
uprisings  of  Wat  Tyler,  John  Ball,  and  Jack  Straw,  partly 
a  revolt  against  unjust  taxation  and  oppressive  landlords, 
and   partly,  especially  in    London,  an    assault   upon    the 
Flemings,    who   had    been    imported   by   Edward    III   to 
establish  the  manufacture  of  cloth,  and  of  whom  native 
workmen  were  intensely  jealous.     The  Eastern  Question, 
too,  was  assuming  a  strangely  modern  appearance.       In 
1343  the  Turk  first  got  a  foothold  in  Europe,  and  twenty 
years  later  began  the  meteoric  career  of  Tamerlane,  infin- 
itely prophetic  of  barbarous  possibilities  from  the  Orient. 
The  revolt  against  the  Pope,  which  resulted  in  the  com- 
plicated movement  known  as  the  Reformation,  began  in 
the  fourteenth  century  with  Wyclif  in  England  and  with 
John  Huss  in  Bohemia.    The  Revival  of  Learning  also  falls 
in  this  century;   Petrarch  and  Boccaccio  were  Chaucer's 
contemporaries.      The   interest    in  education    was  wide- 
spread.      A    whole    chain   of    universities,  from    Cracow 
to  Saint  Andrews,   were  established   between   1340   and 
1410.     The  extension   of   the   British  empire  was  never 
a  more  vital  question  than  at  this  time.     The  armed  asser- 
tion of  Edward's  claims  to  the  crown  of  France,  the  war 
of    Richard  II  in  Ireland,  and  the  attempt  of   John   of 
Gaunt  to  seize  the    kingdom   of  Castile,  show   how  far- 
reaching  this  movement  was.     One  can  even  see  a  forecast 
of  the  gold  and  silver  question  in  the  time  of  Edward  III. 
The  king's  gold  nobles  became  immediately  famous.    They 
were  readily  accepted  by  foreign  merchants  everywhere, 
as  sovereigns  pass  current  to-day.     Many  similar  details 
might  be  enumerated,  but  enough  has  been  said  to  indicate 


00  WORDS  AXD   THEIR    WAYS 

that  Chaucer  was  born  in  a  time  of  great  religious  and 
political  and  literary  activity. 

By  station,  and  by  the  incidents  of  his  career,  Chaucer 
was  peculiarly  fitted  to  express  the  complicated  life  of 
this  intensely  'modern'  age.  He  belonged  to  the  well- 
to-do  burgher  class,  and  his  family  stood  in  some  kind  of 
relation  to  the  court.  He  was  neither  too  hio-h  nor  too  low 
to  be  well  acquainted  with  all  varieties  of  Euglish  life. 
In  his  youtli  he  became  page  to  the  Countess  of  Ulster, 
and  from  this  time  he  always  enjoyed  some  kind  of  official 
emolument  within  the  royal  gift.  He  was  a  Collector  of 
the  Customs,  a  Superintendent  of  Buildings,  and  an  officer 
in  charge  of  what  we  should  now  call  the  Thames  Con- 
servation. He  was  also  a  Member  of  Parliament  for  a 
short  time.  But  his  experiences  were  not  merely  insular. 
He  visited  France  and  Italy  several  times  on  business  of 
state,  and  thus  came  into  close  relations  with  foreism  life 
and  letters  as  well  as  with  diplomacy.  As  courtier,  office- 
holder, legislator,  soldier,  diplomatist,  burgher  of  London, 
he  came  into  contact  with  every  sort  of  person  worth  know- 
ing, from  king  to  apprentice.  Probably  uo  man  had  a 
broader  and  more  intimate  knowledge  of  tlie  social  life  of 
the  fourteenth  century.  Add  to  all  this  the  splendid 
accident  of  genius,  and  you  have  a  writer  astonishingly 
well  equipped  to  depict  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  as 
they  thought  and  acted  in  this  interesting  time. 

Chaucer  found  his  native  East  Midland  dialect  already  a 
cultivated  language.  There  had  been  much  narrative 
poetry  written  in  this  dialect.  It  was,  in  the  main,  the 
English  of  commerce,  of  the  court,  and  of  the  universitieso 
Before  he  had  written  a  line,  the  East  Midland  dialect 
seemed  likely  to  become  standard  or  literary  English,  and 
it  doubtless  would  have  achieved  that  position,  even  if  he 


THE  LITERARY  LANGUAGE  91 

had  never  been  born.  Still,  the  process  would  have  been 
more  gradual  and  much  less  certain.  What  was  needed 
at  this  juncture  was  a  literary  man,  a  poet  of  commanding 
genius,  whose  native  dialect  was  that  which  stood  ready 
to  be  stamped  as  literary  English  forever.  Chaucer  was 
such  a  poet  ;  and  after  his  death  nobody  doubted  that 
the  language  as  he  had  written  it  was  the  best  English, 

It  must  not  be  thought  that  Chaucer  actually  imported 
many  new  words  into  our  language.  Almost  every  word 
that  he  used  can  be  found  somewhere  at  any  earlier  date. 
Most  of  his  French  and  Latin  'borrowings  '  had  been  made 
before.  Wiiat  he  did  for  the  Midland  dialect  was  rather 
to  write  it  with  an  ease,  a  polish,  and  a  regularity  which 
had  not  been  hitherto  attained,  and  to  use  it  as  the  vehicle 
for  first-rate  poetry.  This  stamped  the  language  of 
Chaucer  at  once  as  the  literary  standard.  The  excellence 
of  his  English  is  celebrated  by  his  contemporaries  and 
successors.  By  his  side  stood  Gower,  wlio  wrote  in  the 
same  dialect.  Gower,  though  no  genius,  was  a  skilful 
versifier  and  the  master  of  an  extremely  neat  style.  For- 
tunately, his  influence  on  the  language  coincided  with 
Chaucer's  in  almost  every  particular.  Gower  without 
Chaucer  would  not  have  sufficed.  Chaucer  without  Gower 
would  have  been  abundantly  able  to  accomplish  what 
was  necessary.  The  coincidence  of  their  efforts  was 
fortunate  for  the  English  language.  Chaucer  died  in 
1400.  His  successors  and  feeble  pupils,  Hoccleve  and 
Lydgate,  though  they  contributed  nothing  of  value  to 
English  poetry,  did  much  to  popularize  the  language  of 
Chaucer,  which  they  directly  imitated  in  every  possible 
way.  There  was  no  longer  any  doubt  wdiat  was  the 
English  literary  language:  it  was  the  East  Midland  dia- 
lect, and   whoever  wrote   in  any  other   dialect  was  not 


92  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

writing  standard  English,  but  a  local  or  provincial  patois. 
Since  1400  there  has  been  a  very  slight  shift,  so  that 
Modern  English  is  a  trifle  more  northerly  than  Chaucer's 
dialect,  but  this  is  of  no  importance  in  the  present  dis- 
cussion. ^ 

It  is  to  be  noticed  that  the  dialect  which  finally  became 
literary  English,  and  which,  therefore,  all  educated  speakers 
of  English  use,  however  they  may  differ  among  themselves 
in  details,  is  not  the  descendant  of  King  Alfred's  West 
Saxon,  but  of  quite  a  different  dialect,  the  Mercian.  The 
West  Saxon  is  now  represented  by  the  rustic  dialects  of 
Wilts  and  Dorset  in  the  South  of  England. 

The  triumph  of  the  INIidland  Dialect  was  complete  by 
1450,  and  soon  caused  most  of  the  other  dialects  to  fall 
into  disuse  as  literary  media.  In  the  north,  however,  a 
variety  of  the  Northumbrian  was  develojoed  into  the 
Scottish  language,  which  was  subjected  to  many  special 
influences,  and  received  much  literary  cultivation.  The 
Scottish  language  could  not  maintain  itself,  however.  It 
has  been  constrained  to  consort  with  the  dialects  once 
more,  though  it  still  maintains  an  exceptionally  dignified 
position  among  them. 

Thus  every  one  of  the  three  dialects  of  the  Anglo-Saxons 
has  had  its  chance.  The  Northumbrian  became  the  first 
literary  English.  The  West  Saxon  succeeded  to  that 
position,  and  held  it  until  the  Norman  Conquest.  In  the 
fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries  the  Mercian  made  good 
its  claims  and  won  a  recognition  which  was  final. 

1  The  most  striking  evidence  of  this  shift  is  seen  in  the  use  of  s  instead 
of  iJi  in  the  third  person  singular  of  verbs.  Chaucer  said  haCh,  duth,  wail- 
eth,  for  example,  but  we  say  has,  does,  wails. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE   LATIN    IN    ENGLISH 

In  sketching  the  development  of  the  English  language 
we  have  confined  our  attention  to  the  native  (Anglo- 
Saxon)  element  and  to  the  influence  exerted  by  Norman 
and  Parisian  French.  We  have  yet  to  consider  the  indebt- 
edness of  our  language  to  the  Latin. 

English  began  to  borrow  words  from  the  Latin  before 
there  was  any  English.  Street  (L.  strata  [vm],  'a  paved 
road'),  wall  (L.  vallwm'),  chalk  (  L.  calx,  calcis,  'lime'),  and 
a  few  other  terms  entered  the  West  (Jermanic  dialects 
before  the  Anglo-Saxon  Conquest  of  Britain.  A  few 
others  were  learned  by  the  invaders  from  the  Britons, 
who  had  been  Roman  colonists  for  three  or  four  hundred 
years.  Among  these  were  jjort  (L.  port)is)  and  -cJiester, 
-caster  (L.  castra,  'camp'),  as  seen  in  the  name  of  the 
County  of  CJiester,  and  in  Silcliester,  Lancaster,  etc.  The 
conversion  of  tlie  invaders  to  Christianity  immediately 
brought  in  a  number  of  religious  and  ecclesiastical  words, 
like  i^o^f',  bishop,  monk,  nun,  which  we  have  already  studied 
(p.  44).  From  this  time  to  the  present,  the  borrowing  of 
Latin  words  has  gone  on  incessantly.  We  have  seen  that 
this  is  true  of  the  technical  dialects  of  divinity,  philosophy, 
law,  and  natural  science.  But  the  influence  of  Latin  is 
not  confined  to  the  technical  vocabulary.  It  is  felt  in 
almost  every  sentence  that  we  utter.  It  pervades  tlie 
whole  system  of  English  speech. 

93 


94  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

The  relations  between  French  and  Latin  on  the  one 
hand,  and  English  and  French  on  the  other,  make  the 
influence  of  Latin  on  English  extremely  complex.  In 
outline,  however,  the  subject  may  be  easily  grasped. 

One  fact  of  cardinal  importance  should  be  kept  con- 
stantly in  mind.  In  the  eighth  century,  when  Anglo- 
Saxon  was  developing  a  written  literature,  every  educated 
Englishman  spoke  and  wrote  Latin  as  easily  as  he  spoke 
and  wrote  his  mother  tongue.  Indeed,  the  ability  to  use 
Latin  freely  was,  until  a  comparatively  recent  period,  the 
chief  distinguishing  mark  of  an  educated  man.  Hence  in 
all  the  earlier  periods  of  our  language,  anybody  who  was 
learned  enough  to  borrow  a  Latin  word  at  all,  was  suffi- 
ciently familiar  with  that  language  to  borrow  the  word  in 
conversation  as  Avell  as  from  the  written  page.  This  sig- 
nificant fact  is  often  lost  sight  of. 

Before  the  Norman  Conquest,  then,  a  good  many  Latin 
words  had  been  introduced  into  English,  either  orally 
or  with  the  pen.  Many  of  these  disappeared  when  the 
literary  West  Saxon  went  to  pieces,  but  a  few  have  sur- 
vived and  are  still  in  use. 

After  the  Conquest,  as  we  have  seen,  French  words 
began  to  come  into  our  language,  —  first  from  Norman 
French,  and  afterwards,  in  mucli  larger  numbers,  from  the 
Central  dialect,  the  '  French  of  Paris '  which  Chaucer's 
Prioress  had  never  learned.  The  Norman-French  words 
which  became  English  were  mostly  'popular'  from  the  out- 
set. They  include  such  simple  terms  as  peace,  totver,  castle, 
grief,  jjrison,  court,  countess,  and  the  like,  which  are  indis- 
tinguishable in  the  minds  of  all  English-speaking  persons 
from  the  commonest  words  of  native  origin.  Later,  from 
1300  on,  there  took  place  a  wholesale  importation  of  words 
from  Central  French,  and  to  this  the  large  proportion  of 


THE  LATIN   IN   ENGLISH  95 

French  words  in  our  language  is  chiefly  due.  This  impor- 
tation was  made  by  Englishmen  to  whom  French  was 
almost  a  second  mother  tongue,  and  was  therefore  effected, 
to  a  considerable  extent,  through  oral  rather  than  written 
borrowing.  Yet  many  French  words  came  in  through 
literary  channels  as  well.  Now,  all  literary  Englishmen 
in  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries  knew  a  good  deal 
of  Latin.  Gower,  for  instance,  wrote  three  long  poems, 
—  one  in  English,  one  in  French,  and  one  in  Latin, — 
and  handled  the  three  languages  with  equal  facility. 
Thus  the  same  persons  who  were  borrowing  from  French 
were  at  the  same  time  borrowing  from  Latin,  and,  since 
French  itself  is  only  Latin  in  a  corrupt  form,  it  is  often 
impossible  to  determine  from  which  of  the  two  languages 
a  particular  word  was  directly  taken.  The  mere  fact  that 
the/orwi  of  the  English  word  is  rather  French  than  Latin 
does  not  settle  the  question.  For  the  form  which  a  Latin 
word  assumed  when  it  became  English  was  frequently 
determined  by  the  habits  of  the  French  language.  Thus 
our  word  figure  is  ultimately  derived  from  the  Latin 
figiira,  of  which  the  French  figure  is  a  clipped  form.  It 
is  probable  that  we  took  the  word  directly  from  the 
French.  Yet  this  is  not  certain.  For  any  English  writer 
who  had  wished  to  introduce  the  Latin  figura  into  the 
vernacular  would  at  once  have  modified  the  word  after 
the  French  fashion.  TIius,  whether  figure  came  from 
Latin  directly  or  from  French,  it  would  inevitably  have 
taken  the  same  form  in  English  :  namely,  figure.  Texture, 
for  example,  is  known  to  have  come  directly  from  the 
Latin  textura;  yet  it  has  been  remade,  after  the  French 
model,  as  set  by  figure  and  other  words  already  in  the 
language,  so  that,  so  far  as  ap])ears  from  its  form,  it  might 
perfectly  well  have  come  from  the  French  texture.     So 


96  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

flexure,  from  the  Latin  flexura,  has  a  similar  form,  as  if  it 
came  from  a  French  word  flexure,  though,  in  fact,  no  such 
word  as  flexure  exists  in  the  French  language.  How 
strong  was  this  tendency  to  follow  the  French  fashion  in 
adapting  words  from  the  Latin  may  be  seen  in  Chaucer's 
forms  for  proper  names.  The  Old  French  form  for  Cato 
was  Catoun,  and  this  is  regularly  used  by  Chaucer  and  his 
contemporaries.  So  Chaucer  writes  Achilles  and  Achille, 
Pmidarus  and  Pandare,  indifferently.  Indeed,  when  a 
word  existed  in  both  Latin  and  French,  it  must  often 
have  been  impossible  for  the  borrower  himself  to  tell  from 
which  language  he  was  taking  it. 

This  state  of  things  continued  through  the  fourteenth 
and  fifteenth  centuries.  A  huge  number  of  words  came 
in  from  both  Latin  and  French,  and  wc  are  frequently  at 
a  loss  to  distinguish  between  them.  Li  doubtful  cases, 
however,  the  distinction  is  of  almost  no  importance,  since, 
even  if  the  word  passed  through  the  French,  it  is  none  the 
less  Latin,  and  was  felt  as  quite  as  much  Latin  as  French, 
whatever  its  immediate  source  may  have  been. 

Li  many  cases,  however,  it  is  easy  to  distinguish  a  word 
borrowed  from  the  French.  Thus  we  see  at  a  glance  that 
deceive  does  not  come  directly  from  the  Latin  decipere,  but 
from  its  French  form  decevoir.  So  of  voyage  from  Fr. 
voyage  (L.  viaticum),  poison  from  Fr.  poison  (L.  potionem^, 
venge  from  Fr.  venger  (L.  vindieare'),  point  from  Fr.  2:)oint 
(\j.  punctuni).  Li  these  examples,  and  many  others,  the 
French  form  has  wandered  so  far  from  the  Latin  that 
doubt  is  impossible.  This  points  to  an  important  obser- 
vation. French  is,  in  the  main,  the  vulgar  Latin  of  the 
Gallic  provincials  in  the  shape  in  which  centuries  of  decay 
have  left  it,  just  as  Spanish  is  the  Latin  of  the  provincials 
of  Spain,  and  Italian  the  remainder  Latin  of  the  Tuscans. 


THE  LATIN  IN   ENGLISH  97 

By  the  ninth  century  this  Gallic  Latin  had  become  so 
different  from  its  prototype  as  to  constitute  a  distinct 
language.  There  were,  then,  two  kinds  of  Latin  in  Gaul 
at  this  time,  the  rustic  and  debased  dialect,  which  we  may, 
with  a  slight  anticipation,  call  '  French,'  and  the  educated 
Latin  of  the  schools.  Both  had  a  continuous  tradition 
from  Roman  times ;  but  the  former  came  from  a  vernacular 
and  untutored  tradition,  the  latter  from  the  learned  tra- 
dition of  the  church  and  the  schools,  identical  with  the 
scholar's  dialect  throughout  the  Western  World.  From 
the  ninth  to  the  twelfth  century  the  vernacular  changed 
rapidly.  Recognized  as  a  genuine  language,  not  a  mere 
patois,  it  received  literary  cultivation,  which  has  ever  since 
continued,  until  French  has  become  the  '  polite  language ' 
of  Europe.  With  this  cultivation,  a  multitude  of  words 
were  borrowed  from  the  classic  Latin  by  educated  men, 
exactly  as  was  the  case  with  English,  and  these  '•  learned ' 
words  are  close  to  the  Latin,  whereas  tlie  •■  popular ' 
words  that  come  from  the  rustic  tradition  usually  bear  a 
much  less  distinct  resemblance  to  the  Latin.  Thus  sevrer 
(our  sever)  and  separer  both  represent  the  Latin  separare, 
but  sevrer  is  the  'popular'  or  continuous  vernacular  form, 
and  separer  a  'learned'  or  literary  borrowing.  Again, 
siirete  (older  seiirte)  and  securite  both  come  from  L. 
securitatem,  but  surete  is  ••  popular '  and  securite  is  '  learned.' 
We  could  never  hesitate  to  derive  our  surety  from  the 
French  surete.  Security,  however,  might  come  either  from 
securite,  or,  as  is  more  likely  in  this  instance,  directly 
from  the  Latin,  the  form  which  it  takes  being  influenced 
by  surety  and  other  similar  words  which  we  have  taken 
from  the  French. 

These  considerations  not  only  serve  to  illustrate  the  dif- 
ference  between  learned  and    popular   words  (to   wliich 


98  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

we  have  already  given  some  attention),  but  they  suggest 
the  complexity  of  the  influences  Avhich  Latin,  both  as  a 
learned  and  as  a  popular  tongue,  has  had  upon  the 
language  which  we  speak,  or,  in  other  words,  the  con- 
tinuity and  complexity  of  the  civilization  which  the 
English  language  ex2:)resses  to  the  student  of  philology.^ 
If  we  pass  on  to  the  sixteenth  century,  we  find  the  rela- 
tion of  French  and  Latin  to  our  vocabulary  quite  different 
from  that  in  the  fourteenth  and  early  fifteenth.  The 
time  of  wholesale  borrowing  from  the  French  has  passed, 
but  Latin  borrowing  is  more  active  than  ever.  It  is,  how- 
ever, distinctly  learned  borrowing.  The  Revival  of 
Learning  has  sent  men  directly  to  the  classics.  Theolog- 
ical and  philosophical  studies  are  also  pursued  with  vigor, 
and  this  means  an  immersal  in  Latin.  Latin  is  still  the 
scholar's  language,  but  to  speak  French  has  become  a  mere 
accomplishment  (as  it  is  to-day)  and  the  men  who  are 
adding  words  to  our  vocabulary  no  longer  feel  that  French 
and  Latin  are  equally  near  to  them.  These  are  'learned 
times,'  and  a  multitude  of  words  are  taken  directly  from 
the  Latin,  with  no  thought  of  their  French  relations. 
The  fashion  of  reforming  such  words  after  the  French 
model  is  still  in  force,  for  it  has  become  a  law  of  our 
speech,  but  we  no  longer  hesitate  to  which  language  to 
refer  an  ambiguous  form  :  Ave  refer  it  to  Latin  without 
hesitation.  In  fact,  the  best  test  in  all  these  doubtful 
cases  is  the  age  of  the  word  in  English.  If  it  came  in 
after  1500,  the  chances  are  overwhelmingly  in  favor 
of  its  having  come  directly  from  the  Latin  unless  it 
bears    an    unmistakably  French  imprint.       This   learned 

1  We  may  remark,  in  passing,  that  nearly  all  the  English  words  that 
are  from  Norman  French  are  from  popular  forms,  whereas  the  later 
borrowings  include  many  learued  terms. 


THE  LATIN  IN   ENGLISH  99 

borrowing  from  Latin  went  on  vigorously  till  very 
recently,  and  is  still  common,  as  we  have  seen,  in  the 
technical  vocabulary  of  the  sciences.  It  brought  in  a 
multitude  of  useful  words,  and  tended  especially  to 
enrich  our  language  in  its  means  of  expressing  shades  of 
thought  and  securing  variety  of  expression  in  general. 
But  it  was  carried  to  pedantic  lengths,  and  in  the  eigh- 
teenth and  nineteeath  centuries  there  was  a  revolt  against 
it,  which  has  restored  the  equilibrium  betvveen  the  several 
main  components  of  the  English  language.  The  borrow- 
ings from  French  since  1500  have  been  scanty  compared 
with  those  that  preceded  and  with  the  borrowings  from 
Latin.  Yet  a  good  many  words  have  come  in  from 
that  language,  —  especially  military  terms  and  society 
phrases.  The  latter  have  manifested  themselves  particu- 
larly in  the  times  from  the  Restoration  to  the  present  day, 
during  wdiich  French  has  been  the  language  of  diplomacy 
and  polite  society,  as  well  as  a  general  medium  of  commu- 
nication for  travellers  of  all  nationalities. 

In  addition  to  the  great  stock  of  Latin  words  that  have 
entered  our  language  through  the  French,  or  under  its 
influence,  we  have  a  huge  mass  of  words  and  phrases  taken 
directly  from  the  Latin  without  change.  Few  persons 
realize  the  extent  of  this  element  in  our  vocabulary,  and 
fewer  still  its  significance. 

A  number  of  examples  will  bring  out  instantly  some  of 
the  main  points :  sujjerior,  minimum,  vim,  bonus,  stimulus, 
animal,  folio,  item,  nostrum,  recipe,  veto,  vacuum,  inertia, 
innuendo,  dictum,  alibi,  errata,  interim,  vnemorandum,  affi- 
davit, via  (in  'via  New  York').  Here  we  have  a  score  of 
words  taken  bodily  from  the  Latin  without  change.  Yet 
they  are  undoubtedly  English  and  in  common  use.  One 
of  them  (yini)  is  so  very  '  popular '  as  to  be  almost  slangy. 


100  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

Their  diversity  of  form  is  also  remarkable.  They  repre- 
sent almost  every  turn  and  twist  of  Latin  inflection.  We 
find  the  first,  second,  and  third  declensions  of  nouns,  all 
three  genders,  and  both  numbers.  Three  cases  appear 
(nominative,  accusative,  and  ablative),  a  verb,  two  perfect 
participles,  a  gerundive,  a  gerund  in  o.  There  are  mascu- 
line and  neuter  adjectives,  the  comparative  and  superlative 
degrees,  a  possessive  pronoun,  three  adverbs,  the  present 
and  perfect  indicative,  and  an  imperative.  In  short,  a 
boy  Avho  can  explain  all  the  Latin  forms  involved  in  this 
short  list  of  thoroughly  English  words  need  fear  no  exami- 
nation in  Latin  accidence. 

This  great  diversity  of  form  is  highly  significant.  It 
suggests  that  we  owe  many  words  of  this  class,  not  to 
deliberate  borrowing  of  a  learned  or  literary  character, 
but  to  the  haphazard  linguistic  processes  of  conversation 
and  daily  life.  Nor  should  we  be  surprised  at  this. 
Latin,  as  we  have  observed  already,  was  a  second  ver- 
nacular to  educated  men  for  many  centuries.  Not  only 
was  it  the  language  of  the  learned  professions,  but  it 
long  served  as  a  means  of  communication  among  all  but 
the  positively  illiterate.  To  learn  to  read  was  to  learn 
to  read  Latin.  Grammar  was  Latin  grammar.  Roger 
Ascham  remarks  in  a  matter-of-fact  way  that  it  would,  of 
course,  have  been  easier  for  him  to  write  his  Toxophi- 
lus  in  Latin  than  in  English.  Legal  documents,  even 
of  the  most  ordinary  kind,  were  indited  in  that  language. 
So  were  records  of  every  sort,  not  only  those  of  the  state, 
but  the  journals  of  guilds  and  trade-companies.  All  im- 
portant accounts  were  also  in  Latin.  Queen  Elizabeth 
talked  Latin  with  foreign  ambassadors ;  Cromwell  had 
Milton  for  his  Latin  secretary. 

All  this  means  that  to  a  large  fraction  of  the  commu- 


THE  LATIN   IN  ENGLISH  101 

nity  Latin  terras  were,  and  always  have  been,  actually  the 
only  familiar  terms  for  certain  ideas  and  certain  things. 
This  is  still  true  in  a  measure,  as  with  lawyers,  for  instance, 
and  physicians ;  but  it  becomes  more  and  more  significant 
as  we  trace  our  history  back  to  mediLeval  times.  It  was  as 
natural  for  all  persons  who  had  occasion  to  mention  such 
things,  to  use  the  Latin  words  for  them  when  they  were 
talking  English  as  when  they  were  talking  Latin.  Even 
to-day,  when  the  doctors  talk  little  Latin,  and  write  it  no 
more  than  they  can  help,  it  is  far  easier  for  them  to  speak 
of  the  sequelae  of  a  disease  than  of  its  '  consequences,'  and 
it  would  be  mere  affectation  if  they  avoided  sucli  terms  as 
prophylaxis  and  diagnosis,  or  tried  to  translate  them  into 
English.  We  have  seen  how  easily  learned  words  pass 
into  the  ordinary  vocabulary  and  become  popular.  A 
man  does  not  use  vernacular  words  merely  because  they 
are  vernacular,  but  because  they  are  the  words  that  he 
hears ;  and  few  Englishmen  of  any  period  have  been  so 
out  of  contact  with  the  Church  or  the  courts,  with  medicine 
or  the  arts,  as  not  to  be  influenced  by  the  language  of 
those  who  are  professionally  identified  with  such  pursuits. 
The  habit,  once  established,  propagated  itself,  as  habits  do, 
and  became  one  of  the  regular  tendencies  of  our  language. 
The  borrowings  in  question,  then,  are  of  all  dates,  remote 
and  recent. 

A  moment's  consideration  of  some  of  our  examples  will 
enforce  what  has  just  been  said.  Recipe  is  an  imperative 
directing  the  apothecary  to  '  take '  such  and  such  drugs 
and  compound  tliem ;  it  is  the  physician's  formula  in 
beginning  a  prescription,  and  lias  come  to  he  tlie  name 
of  tlie  document  itself.  Nostnoii  means  'our  own'  (or 
'my  own'),  that  is, 'a  proprietary  romed}',' unknown  to 
the  profession   in  general,  —  hence,  a  'quack  medicine.' 


102  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

Innuendo  is  the  gerund  of  innuo^  '  to  suggest,'  used  as  a 
present  participle  to  mean  '  suggesting  '  or  '  signifying  ' ; 
it  has  passed  from  the  kinguage  of  legal  documents  into 
its  familiar  use  in  ordinary  speech.  Folio  is  the  ablative 
ot  folium^  and  means,  literally,  '-on  such  and  such  a  leaf^ 
(in  a  written  document)  ;  it  is  thus  the  common  term  in 
referring  to  a  particular  page,  and,  being  constantly  heard 
in  the  ablative,  has  become  English  in  that  case-form. 
Memoranduin  (often  abbreviated  to  mem.^  is  the  gerundive 
of  memoro^  '  remember,'  and  means  '  (that  which)  must  be 
borne  in  mind.'  Item.,  'also,'  is  an  old  accountant's  term. 
It  was  formerly  prefixed  to  all  the  items  in  a  bill  or  inven- 
tory except  the  first,^  but  gradually  it  lost  its  specific  sense 
of  'also'  and  came  to  be  used  with  them  all;  hence  its 
meaning  as  an  English  word.  Bonus  is  a  recent  addition 
to  our  vocabulary,  and  sliows  the  persistence  of  the  influ- 
ences that  we  are  studying.  Perhaps  it  comes  from  the 
stock  exchange.  It  means  '  a  good  thing,'  something  '  to 
the  good,'  —  and  ought,  strictly  speaking,  to  be  the  neuter 
bonum.  Its  recent  or  jocose  origin  is  indicated  by  this 
error  in  gender.  Compare  preQuima.,  which  (being  an 
older  word  in  English)  shows  a  correct  form. 

The  genuinely  vernacular  nature  of  these  words  is 
emj)hasized  when  we  pass  to  whole  phrases,  which  have 
been  taken  into  our  language  with  the  greatest  freedom. 
No  one  when  he  says  ex  parte,  or  poiit  mortem,  or  bona 
fide,  is  conscious  of  talking  a  foreign  language;  for 
these  phrases  and  scores  of  others  have  become  a  part 
of  the  vernacular  by  inheritance  and  constant  use,  and 
although  their  home  is  Latin,  they  are  as  much  English 
as  if  they  had  been  translated,  as  they  often  are.  No  one 
can  say  that  dividers  is  any  more    F^nglish   than  divisor. 

i  Which  was  iiupriinis,  'lirsl.' 


THE  LATIN   IN   ENGLISH  103 

The  only  difference;  is  that  divisjr  is  originally  a  technical 
term,  Latin  in  form,  which  the  progress  of  edncation  has 
made  known  to  every  schoolboy,  while  dividers  has  been 
made  over  by  means  of  an  English  termination  and  then 
specialized  into  a  technicality.  It  is  even  donbtful  which 
word  is  more  vernacular  to-day. 

Subjjoena  has  become  an  English  noun  and  is  used  as  a 
verb  as  well.  It  is  merely  the  law  term  sub  poena^  'under 
penalty.'  Still  more  vernacular  is  the  verb  to  )io)iplus. 
It  is  originally  a  term  of  scholastic  disputation.  A  man 
was  'at  a  non  plus  '  when  he  had  '  no  more  '  to  say. 

Sometimes  such  phrases  are  translated,  but  often  the 
translation  is  more  artificial- — less  English,  indeed ^ — -than 
the  Latin  itself.  An  '-ex  cathedra  opinion'  is  a  perfectly 
natural  phrase  for  one  delivered  authoritatively,  but  we 
should  attach  no  such  meaning  to  the  English  '  from  the 
chair,"  except  by  thinking  of  the  Latin.  '  In  the  arti- 
cle of  death'  is  a  mere  slavish  rendering  of  in  articido 
mortis.  In  itself,  it  means  nothing,  for  article  has  no  such 
sense  in  our  language,  but  we  understand  the  phrase  by 
association  with  the  Latin  original.  Similarly,  sine  die  is 
occasionally  made  into  pigeon-English  as  'without  day.' 
So  with  the  French  mariaye  de  convenance.,  'an  arranged 
marriage.'  We  sometimes  translate  it  by  'marriage  of 
convenience,'  which  has  no  sense  in  English  except  as  it 
has  acquired  one  by  virtue  of  the  French.  '  Cela  va  sans 
dire'  has  given  us  'That  goes  without  saying,'  though 
'goes'  does  not  mean  'is  valid,'  'holds,'  nor  does  sayin;/ 
mean  'statement.'  The  English  phrase  is  not  very  well 
established,  but  it  is  always  understood,  for  our  language 
is  so  tolerant  of  foreign  phrases  that  aiiytliing  will  pass 
muster  that  suggests  one. 

'Generally  speaking'  is  an  idiom  that  gives  the  strict 


104  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

grammarian  some  trouble.  For  it  is  constantly  used  in 
apparent  violation  of  the  rule  that  the  participle  must 
have  a  noun  to  agree  with:  as,  '•GeneraUij  speaking,  bank 
notes  are  as  good  as  gold.'  But  all  diiliculty  vanishes 
when  we  observe  that  the  phrase  is  merely  the  Late  Latin 
generaliter  I'oquendo,  for  nobody  expects  the  gerund  to 
agree  with  a  noun.^ 

Inclusive,  in  such  i)hrases  as  'pages  thirty  to  thirty- 
three  inclusive,''  is  a  curious  instance  of  a  Latin  word 
made  English.  It  is  really  the  Latin  adverb  inclusive, 
'inclusively,'  and  was  felt  as  Latin  in  the  sixteenth  century 
(so  also  exclusive).''^  Probabl}^  it  was  first  anglicized  by 
a  blunder,  as  we  hear  people  pronounce /c?e  as  one  syllable 
in  bona  fide.  Tlie  possibility  of  the  error,  however,  is 
strong  evidence  of  the  'popularity'  of  such  Latin  phrases. 

A  remarkable  bit  of  testimony  consists  in  the  liabitual 
use  of  Latin  abbreviations  in  English  writing,  and  in  the 
fact  that  these  almost  always  suggest  not  the  Latin  words 
for  which  they  stand,  but  the  English  equivalent.  £,  s.,  d. 
mean  to  everybody  '  pounds,'  '  shillings,'  and  '  pence  '  ■ — 
not  librae,  solidi,  and  detiarii.  Falstaff's  tavern-bill  showed 
ob.  (obolus)  among  its  entries,  but  Prince  Hal  read  it 
'half-penny.'  Pp.  Qpaginae')  means  'pages,'  and  LL.B. 
{Legiun  Baccalaureiis)  '  bachelor  of  laws,'  to  most  of  us, 
though  the  doubling  of  the  letter  to  indicate  a  plural  is 
not  an  English,  but  a  Latin  habit,  and  though  laws  is  not 
a  legitimate  translation  of  leges  in  the  sense  of  'two  kinds 

^  Considerinrj,  regarding^  and  the  like,  are  related  to  this  use,  but 
are  commonly  disposed  of  by  calling  them  'prepositions.'  Similarly  the 
'preposition  '  votvilhstanding  is  a  mere  translation  of  the  Latin  ablative 
absolute  {non  obstante).  Cf.  Bishop  Andrewes  (in  1020):  "  For  either 
of  these  7ion  obstante,  nay  notwithstanding  both  these,  she  had  the  hap- 
piness to  see  His  Angels."     Ninety-six  Sermons,  ed.  1841,  III,  5. 

-  See  Andrewes,  Ninety -six  Sermons,  ed.  18-11,  1,  27. 


THE  LATIN   IN   ENGLISH  105 

of  law' — civil  and  canon.  So  i.e.  {id  est)  is  read  '  tliat 
is,'  e.^.  (exempli  (jratia),  '  for  example.'  Now  and  then  a 
foreigner  in  writing  English  uses/.e.  or/./.,  but  we  find  it 
hard  to  guess  that  he  means  '  for  example'  or  'for  instance,' 
though  the  Latin  e-n-  occasions  us  no  difiiculty.  Viz.  is 
a  curious  example.  It  is  videlicet  ('you  may  know,'  'to 
wit'),  the  z  being  not  a  z  at  all,  but  an  old  sign  of  abbre- 
viation resembling  that  letter  in  shape.  We  seldom  say 
videlicet  nowadays,  preferring  'namely'  or  'to  wit'  (a  trans- 
lation of  scilicet,  for  scire  licet),  and  even  viz  is  sometimes 
heard. 

Again  we  constantly  use  the  Roman  numerals  without 
thinking  of  the  I^atin  words  for  which  they  stand,  or 
remembering  that  accounts  were  kept  in  Latin  down  to  a 
pretty  recent  date.  INIost  striking  of  all  is  the  sign  <_£% 
which,  thougli  merely  a  short  way  of  writing  et,  is  alwaj'S 
called  '  and,'  and  used  to  be  annexed  to  the  English  alpha- 
bet under  that  designation.  Ampersand,  the  name  for  the 
sign,  is  a  corruption  of  '  and  per  se  and.''  cfec.  and  etc., 
then,  both  stand  for  et  cetera ;  yet  we  commonly  read  the 
former  'and  so  forth,'  and  reserve  the  Latin  phrase  for 
the  latter. 

It  would  require  a  special  treatise  to  exhaust  the  subject 
of  Latin  words  in  English.  Enough  has  been  said  to 
explain  their  presence  and  to  indicate  the  main  channels 
through  which  they  entered  the  language.  Few  persons 
realize  the  extent  of  our  indebtedness.  Computations 
have  often  been  made,  but  they  have  usually  been  based 
on  the  English  vocabulary  as  a  whole  or  on  the  vocabulary 
of  a  particular  author.  If  the  former  course  is  adopted, 
the  question  rises  '  What  is  the  Avhole  English  vocabulary? ' 
for  every  large  dictionary  contains  a  multitude  of  obsolete 
and  technical  terms  that  have  no  place  in  such  a  problem. 


106  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

If  the  works  of  a  single  author  are  taken  as  a  basis,  there 
are  equally  great  objections  to  the  method,  though  of  a 
different  kind.  A  better  method  is  to  see  what  propor- 
tion of  the  Latin  vocabulary  has  passed  into  English. 
With  this  in  view,  we  have  counted  the  words  beginning 
with  A  in  Harper's  Latin  Dictionary  (Andrews-Freund, 
revised  by  Lewis),  excluding  proper  names,  doublets, 
parts  of  verbs,  and  adverbs  in  -e  and  -ter.  Of  tlie  three 
thousand  words  there  catalogued,  one  hundred  and  fifty- 
four  (or  about  one  in  twenty)  have  been  adopted  bodily 
into  our  language  in  some  Latin  form,  and  a  little  over 
five  hundred  have  some  English  representative  taken,  or 
supposed  to  be  taken,  through  the  French.  Thus  we 
have  in  the  English  vocabulary  about  one  in  four  or  five 
of  all  the  words  found  in  the  Latin  lexicon  under  A. 
There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  this  proportion  would 
not  hold  good  approximately  for  the  whole  alphabet.  No 
doubt  some  words  have  been  included  in  this  computation 
that  should  have  been  omitted,  Ijut  others  have  just  as 
certainly  been  overlooked,  and  no  account  has  been  made 
of  Low  and  Middle  Latin.  Roughly  speaking,  then,  we 
are  safe  in  asserting  that  our  language  has  appropriated  a 
full  quarter  of  the  Latin  vocabulary,  besides  what  it  has 
gained  by  transferring  Latin  meanings  to  native  words. 
Our  indebtedness  to  Greek  is  chiefly  in  the  way  of  learned 
or  scientific  terms  which  have  been  borrowed  in  very 
recent  times. ^ 

The  extent  of  the  French  and  Latin  influence  upon  the 
English  vocabulary  makes  our  borrowings  from  other 
languages  seem  insignificant.  The  Celtic  tongues  have 
contributed  very  little,  not  because  the  Celts  were  exter- 
minated,  but    partly    because  of  the   great   dissimilarity 

^  See  pp.  49—31. 


THE  LATIN   IN   ENGLISH  107 

between  Celtic  and  Anglo-Saxon,  partly  because  those 
Britons  with  whom  the  invaders  had  most  intercourse  had 
been  Romanized  to  a  considerable  degree.  Bmmock^  bai'd, 
bo(/,  brock  ('badger'),  brogue^  down  ('hill'),  dun  ('dark- 
colored'),  glen,  lad,  loch^  shamrock,  and  slogan  are  speci- 
mens of  the  Celtic  contingent  in  our  language ;  but  of 
these  examples  only  brock,  dwi,  and  doivn  go  back  to  the 
Anglo-Saxon  period. ^ 

The  Scandinavian  influence  is  more  important.  It 
began  as  early  as  the  ninth  century,  and  was  felt  particu- 
larly in  those  northern  and  eastern  tlistricts  in  which 
there  were  Danish  (or  Norwegian)  settlements.  Many 
Scandinavian  words  did  not  survive  the  INIiddle  English 
period,  except  dialectically.  Most  of  our  Old  Norse  con- 
tingent came  into  English  in  oral  intercourse,  but  a  few 
terms  have  been  borrowed  in  recent  times  ])y  literary  men 
(as,  skald,  edda,  viking,  valkyrie,  Norn).  Among  the  old 
borrowings  are  aloft  (O.N.  a  lopte,  'up  in  the  air,'  from 
O.N.  loptr,  for  loftr,  cognate  with  A.S.  Igft,  Ger.  Luff), 
call,  cast,  sky,  take,  ivrong. 

The  influence  of  Italian  and  Spanish  upon  our  literature 
has  been  very  great,  but  upon  our  vocabulary  these 
languages  have  had  no  appreciable  effect.  The  reason  is 
plain.  Before  the  time  when  such  an  influence  could  have 
been  exerted,  our  language  was  already  fully  formed,  and 
had  adopted  from  Erencli  or  Latin  nearly  all  those  terms 
wliich  it  might  conceivably  have  borrowed  from  related 
Romance  languages.  Art  and  music  have  brought  in 
a  number  of  Italian  terms,  however ;  and  Spanish  has 
contributed  fiotilla,  grandee,  jnnta,  pro  nunc  iamento,  rene- 

1  Basket  and  cradle  aro  often  cited  as  Celtic  woi'ds,  but  there  is  no 
evidence  for  such  a  derivation.  Crock  is  doubtful.  JIoj>  may  be  from  the 
French.     Dudkin,  mattock^  and  slough  are  of  uncertain  origin. 


108  WOED.S   AND    TIIEIIi    WAYS 

fjade,  siestcu  and  a  few  others.  A  good  many  Spanish 
i'orins  that  were  current  in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
centuries  have  become  obsolete. 

Of  the  Semitic  tongues,  Hebrew  and  Arabic  have  made 
small  contributions  to  our  vocabulary.  The  Hebrew  words 
are  mostly  biblical:  as,  —  cherub,  seraph,  shekel,  hallelvjah, 
mannah,  Messiah.  Several  of  the  Arabic  words  are  con- 
nected with  mathematics  or  chemistry, —  sciences  much 
cultivated  by  learned  Arabs  of  the  Middle  Ages.^  Thus 
Ave  have  ahjehra  (from  the  Araljic  article  «/,  'the,'  and 
jehr,  'reduction'  [l)y  equations]);  alkali  (from  al  and 
^c/ZF, 'ashes  of  tlie  soda  plant');  alembic  {anblq,  from  Gr. 
aixjBi^,  dmbix,  '  cu}),'  'cap  of  a  still');  elixir  (from  al-ikslr, 
'the  philosopher's  stone,'  from  Greek  ^rjpo'i,  xerds,  'dry,' 
since  it  was  thought  that  this  mysterious  substance  might 
be  discovered  in  the  form  of  a  powder) ;  cipher  (from  gifr, 
'zero,' literally 'empty ').  Other  Arabic  derivatives  are 
sofa,  salaam  (literally  'peace'),  sherbet,  admiral.  In  ad- 
miral (formerly  amiral),  the  final  syllable  is  again  the 
Arabic  article,  the  word  being  a  fragment  of  the  phrase 
amlr-al-bahr,  'commander  of  the  sea.' 

The  enterprising  sj^irit  of  the  English  people  and  their 
fondness  for  travel  and  colonization,  as  well  as  the  great 
development  of  their  commerce,  have  brought  in  miscellane- 
ous words  from  every  quarter  of  the  earth.  No  language 
is  so  hospitable  as  our  own  to  these  newcomers,  perhaps 
because  no  other  language  already  contains  so  many 
foreign  elements.  None  of  these  borrowings,  however, 
have  affected  the  structure  of  our  speech,  since  they  have 
])ccn  for  the  most  part  simply  the  adoption  of  names  for 
))articnlar  tilings.  Thus  we  liave  binnacle  and  dodo,  from 
Portuguese;  boor,  brackish,  hustle,  isinjlass,  kink,  knapsack, 

1  See  p.  45. 


TUB  LATIN   IN   ENGLISH  109 

landscape^  loiter^  mat'line,  slender,  stove,  yaclit,  from  Dutch 
or  Low  German  ;  hazar  and  caravan,  from  Persian  ;  i^olka, 
from  Polish  ;  hussar,  from  Hungarian  ;  hominy,  moccasin, 
tomahawk,  squaiv,  ivigivam,  from  North  American  Indian  ; 
tea,  nankeen,  from  Chinese;  tahoo,  from  Polynesian;  boom- 
erang, kangaroo,  from  native  Australian,  and  so  on.  Such 
words  enrich  and  diversify  our  vocabulary  without  essen- 
tially changing  its  character.  We  shall  study  many 
instances  of  this  miscellaneous  borrowing  in  subsequent 
chapters. 


CHAPTER   IX 

FASHION    IN    LANGUAGE 

A  POWERFUL  influence  in  bringing  in  new  Avords  or 
reviving  old  ones,  as  well  as  in  changing  the  use  and 
meaning  of  established  expressions,  is  what  may  be 
called,  in  a  broad  way,  '  fashion,' —  a  term  under  which 
we  include  not  merely  the  fads  and  whimsicalities  of  the 
moment,  but  certain  larger  and  more  impressive  move- 
ments and  tendencies.  The  sway  of  fashion  is  easily 
detected  both  in  literature  and  in  our  common  talk.  In 
the  case  of  literature,  we  dignify  such  habits  of  expression 
by  calling  them  stylistic  tendencies.  When  they  attract 
our  attention  in  colloquial  speech,  we  stigmatize  them  as 
slang  or  affectation.  In  the  uncontrolled  utterances  of 
the  street  boy,  these  tendencies  result  in  the  rapid  propa- 
gation of  every  new  phrase  that  falls  upon  his  ear,  till 
there  grows  up  a  language  so  grotesquely  vulgar  as  to 
acquire  a  kind  of  humorous  right  to  existence.  In  the 
domain  of  letters,  they  result  in  those  large  differences  of 
style  which  characterize  particular  schools  of  writing  or 
even  distinct  '  epochs  '  or  '  ages  '  in  literary  history.  Yet 
the  underl3ang  principles  are  the  same  both  in  literature 
and  in  the  individual,  —  fondness  for  novelty,  the  desire 
to  be  original,  and  finally,  the  wish  of  every  man  to  be 
as  wise  as  his  neighbor,  which  results  in  a  general  imita- 
tion  of  whatever  is  striking  or  distinctive. 

110 


FASHION   IN   LANGUAGE  111 

The  effect  of  fashion  in  introducing  new  words  into  our 
vocabnhaiy,  in  l)ringing  certain  words  already  existent 
into  peculiar  prominence  for  the  time  being,  and  in 
banishing  some  old  words  altogether,  may  be  observed  by 
contrasting  the  language  of  different  individuals  who, 
though  frequenting  much  each  other's  society,  are  never- 
theless brought  under  the  control  of  different  modes 
of  expression.  Thus,  a  law  student,  a  medical  student, 
and  a  young  'sport,'  will  be  sure  to  have  widely  dift'erent 
vocabularies,  even  if  they  are  personal  friends.  This  is 
true  not  only  when  they  are  'talking  shop,'  but  when 
they  are  discussing  subjects  quite  outside  of  their  profes- 
sional interests.  The  young  lawyer  will  be  sure  to 
interlard  his  conversation  with  fragments  of  legal  lore 
and  with  figures  of  speech  derived  from  his  text-ljoohs. 
The  physician  will  find  it  difficult  to  avoid  allusions  to 
the  clinic  or  the  dissecting-room.  The  sporting  man  will 
speak  a  dialect  compounded  of  the  race-track,  the  prize- 
ring,  and  ihe  foot-ball  field.  And  all  tliis  may  be  quite 
without  affectation.  The  words  that  we  hear  oftenest 
and  that  are  associated  with  our  dearest  interests  must 
come  to  our  lips  most  readily.  That  a  physician  should 
speak  of  '  dissecting '  a  subject,  a  chemist  of  '  analyzing ' 
it,  a  preacher  of  '  expounding '  it,  is  as  natural  as  that  an 
ordinary  man  should  speak  of  '  explaining '  it  or  '  making 
it  clear.'  A  calamity  may  be  called  'a  cropper'  by  the 
horsey  man,  'a  knock-out'  by  the  amateur  of  pugilism, 
'a  lost  case'  by  a  lawyer.  Such  differences  will  be  per- 
ceptible both  in  the  colloquial  dialect  and  in  more  dignified 
speech. 

Another  fashion  is  the  knack  of  literary  allusion.  It  is 
akin  to  the  habit  of  quotation, —  itself  a  fashion  in  lan- 
guage that  comes  and  goes;  but  it  shows  itself  in  a  less 


112  WORDS  AND   TIIEIIl    WAYS 

formal  and  tangible  way.  The  use  of  scraps  of  French, 
much  commoner  fifty  years  ago  than  at  present,  and  the 
trick  of  using  big  words  on  slight  occasion,  wliether  for 
humorous  effect  or  for  the  sake  of  '  talking  like  a  book,' 
are  other  examples  of  individual  peculiarities  which  may 
at  any  moment  become  general. 

But  the  sway  of  fashion  may  be  observed  not  merely  in 
the  several  vocabularies  of  speakers  whose  professions  are 
different,  but  also  in  the  changes  that  come  over  one's 
own  vocabulary  as  it  is  subjected  to  successive  influences 
in  the  course  of  a  lifetime.  School  or  the  university  pro- 
duces a  marked  effect  on  the  speech  of  a  young  man. 
Another  immediate  change  comes  about  when  he  begins 
the  study  of  his  profession,  or  enters  upon  the  business  of 
his  life.  Even  after  one's  vocabulary  seems  definitely 
established,  current  events  of  general  interest  will  always 
modify  it  strongly  for  the  time  being.  During  the  heat 
of  a  political  campaign  everybody  talks  political  jargon, 
even  when  politics  are  not  under  discussion.  The  Spanish 
War  filled  American  ears  with  hitherto  unheard-of  words 
of  Spanish  origin,  and  the  war  in  South  Africa  has  famil- 
iarized all  of  us  with  an  odd  corner  of  the  Datch  vocabu- 
lary, hitherto  known  only  to  South  African  colonists. 
For  a  time  it  was  easy  to  call  any  difficult  barrier  a 
troclia^  and  the  policy  of  reconcentration  often  appeared  in 
strange  company.  So  every  little  hill  was  a  liopje,  a  lodg- 
ing-place of  any  kind  was  a  laager^  all  sorts  of  things 
were  eommayidee-recL  and  the  suo-gestion  that  this  or  that 
might  '  stagger  humanity '  was  on  every  lip.  Similarly, 
intense  religious  excitement  may  charge  the  language  of 
an  individual  or  a  community  with  biblical  or  theological 
terms  or  phrases.  Within  a  century  the  progress  of  scien- 
tific discovery  and  invention,  and  the  rise  of  the  economic 


FASniOy  I.y   LANGUAGE  113 

and  social  sciences,  have  profoundly  affected  our  speech. 
'Society'  and  'social 'have  taken  on  new  senses.  The 
'  social  problem  '  means  much  more  than  it  ever  did  before. 
'  Unproductive  consumer,'  '  unearned  increment,'  '  the  law 
of  supply  and  demand,'  '  medium  of  exchange,'  '  standard 
of  living,'  '  wages  fund,'  '  pauper  labor,'  '  cooperative  asso- 
ciation,' are  commonly  heard,  even  from  persons  who  have 
never  read  a  chapter  of  political  economy.  '  Evolution,' 
'the  struggle  for  existence,'  'the  survival  of  the  fittest,' 
have  become  so  vague  in  their  common  application  that 
one  hardly  dares  to  employ  them  in  serious  discussion  for 
fear  of  begging  the  question.  Force  is  regularly  used  to 
explain  everything,  as  if  it  were  not  in  itself  a  word  that 
assumes  the  very  ;gioint  which  it  attempts  to  prove.  In- 
deed, it  has  become  one  of  the  vague  terms  which  language 
requires  to  expres^s  indefinite  and  indefinable  conceptions. 

These  are  some  of  the  fashions  that  every  grown-up 
man  can  remember  as. having  from  time  to  time  increased 
his  vocabulary,  and  either  enriched  or  impoverished  his 
thought. 

If  we  broaden  our  scope,  we  shall  find  that  what  hap- 
pens to  the  individual  in  a  single  lifetime,  applies  also  to 
a  whole  people  in  the  lifetime  of  their  language.  New 
interests  assert  themselves  from  age  to  age,  and  induce 
new  forms  of  expression.  The  fashion  changes  and  lan- 
guage must  '  folloAv  the  style.'  Let  us  consider  some  of 
the  movements  that  have  affected  the  English  language 
from  time  to  time. 

We  may  begin  with  a  simple,  but  sufficiently  curious, 
illustration.  The  style  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  translator  of 
Rede's  Ecclesiastical  History  is  marked  by  a  peculiar  trick 
of  repetition.  Again  and  again  he  uses  two  synonymous 
nouns  or  vorl)s  or  adjectives,  wliere  one  would  suftice  to 


114  WOIiDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

convey  his  wliole  meaning.  This  may  be  called,  then,  an 
English  literai'y  habit  of  the  ninth  century.  It  came,  per- 
haps, from  an  unskilful  imitation  of  the  Latin,  or  it  may 
be  due  to  some  uncertainty  as  to  the  exact  scope  of  the 
English  words,  then  first  applied  to  the  finer  shades  of 
thought.  At  all  events,  the  liabit  survived  in  English 
prose  until  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century.  And, 
though  out  of  favor  at  the  moment,  it  has  left  a  number 
of  idiomatic  or  colloquial  phrases  in  the  language:  as,  'end 
and  aim,'  '  lord  and  master,'  '  without  let  or  hindrance,' 
'act  and  deed,'  'pure  and  simple,'  'in  deed  and  truth,' 
'really  and  truly,'  'bright  and  shining,'  'honest  and  true,' 
'proud  and  haughty,'  'weak  and  feeble,'  'race  and  ran,' 
'grunt  and  groan,'  'pull  and  tug,'  'holla  and  bawl,'  'cry 
and  scream,'  'clean  and  neat,'  'toil  and  delve.' ^ 

Such  double  phrases  occur  very  frequently  in  the  Book 
of  Common  Prayer,  where  we  find,  for  instance,  '  sins  and 
wickedness,'  '  dissemble  nor  cloak,'  '  assemble  and  meet 
togetlier,'  '  requisite  and  necessary,'  '  erred  and  strayed,' 
'  declare  and  pronounce,'  '  pardoneth  and  absolveth,'  '  bless 
and  sanctif}^'  '  offer  and  present,'  '  rule  and  govern,' '  knowl- 
edge and  understanding,'  'religiously  and  devoutly,'  'food 
and  sustenance,'  'search  and  examine  your  consciences,' 
'  prayers  and  supplications,'  '  to  try  and  examine  them- 
selves,' 'confirm  and  strengthen.' 

In  several  of  these  instances,  one  word  is  native  and  the 
other  foreign.     Hence  many  have  suj^posed  that  the  repe- 

ilt  is  not  meant  that  these  particular  phrases  came  down  from  King 
Alfred's  time,  nor  that  they  originated  in  tautology  pure  and  simple,  but 
merely  that  they  owe  their  currency  to  a  habit  of  the  language  which  we 
may  observe  in  full  swing  in  the  formal  prose  of  the  ninth  century.  On 
the  whole  matter  see  Emerson,  Modern  Language  Notes,  1893,  i)p.  202 
ff.  ;  J.  M.  Hart,  in  An  English  Miscellany  presented  to  Dr.  Furnivall, 
pp.  150  ff. 


FASHION  IN   LANGUAGE  115 

tition  came  from  a  wish  to  be  intellisfible  botli  to  the 
Saxon  and  the  Norman  element  in  the  popnlation,  or,  at 
all  events,  both  to  the  uneducated  and  to  the  educated 
classes.  But  this  is  pure  assumption,  and  it  is  contra- 
dicted by  the  habits  of  English  speech.  Remembering 
the  composite  character  of  our  vocabulary,  we  are  not  sur- 
prised that  in  a  pair  of  synonyms  one  should  be  of  native 
stock  and  the  other  borrowed.  Besides,  the  examples 
from  the  prayer-book  show  every  kind  of  combination : 
sometimes  both  words  are  native  (as  was  of  course  always 
the  case  in  Anglo-Saxon),  sometimes  both  are  foreign,  and 
sometimes  the  pair  includes  one  word  of  each  kind.  Most 
of  our  older  writers  illustrate  the  same  stylistic  habit. 
Lord  Bacon,  for  instance,  writes  '  donatives  and  largesses,' 
'pageants  or  gaudery,'  'amplitude  and  greatness,'  'to 
forsake  or  destitute  a  plantation,'  '  he  runs  and  is  swift  of 
foot,'  'good  and  fair  dealing,'  'putrefy  and  corrupt,'  'the 
spreading  or  publishing  of  them,'  'to  stay  and  arrest 
nature,'  'look  sharply  and  attentively,'  'honored  and  re- 
spected.' The  rationale  of  such  phrases  is  evident  enough. 
A  single  noun  or  verb  seldom  expresses  the  full  scope  of 
an  idea.  The  pair  of  words  covers  the  whole  meaning 
intended  by  the  writer,  since  the  synonyms  that  he  chooses 
have  somewhat  different  senses.  To  be  sure,  some  repeti- 
tion is  involved,  since  the  second  word  repeats  a  large 
part  of  the  meaning  of  the  first,  though  adding  some 
meaning  of  its  own.  Yet  the  author  prefers  to  express 
his  thought  say  one-and-a-quarter  times  to  the  opposite 
method  of  expressing  three-quarters  of  it  and  leaving  the 
rest  to  be  inferred.  In  Modern  English  we  take  the  latter 
course,  though  not  uniforml}^  The  older  fashion  con- 
duces to  dignity  and  copiousness  of  style,  but  easily 
betrays  one  into  tiresome  verbiage. 


116  WORDS   AND    THEIR    ]VAVS 

111  the  Middle  Ages,  the  Englisli  liiiigiiage  was  a  good 
deal  affected  by  the  allegorical  treatment  of  love.  This 
followed  various  conventions,  drawing  its  iigures  espe- 
cially from  warfare,  chivalr}^  the  law,  and  religion.  Thus 
the  lady's  heart  was  a  castle  to  which  the  knight  laid 
siege.  The  metaphor  was  elaborately  developed  and 
even  acted,  as  a  kind  of  pantomimic  tableau.  Hence  our 
phrases,  'to  take  one's  heart  by  storm,'  'to  surrender  at 
discretion.'  Or  the  lover  was  the  lady's  vassal,  her  'man,' 
bound  to  unquestioning  obedience,  her  'servant,'  her 
'  thrall '  or  slave.  Love  was  a  monarch  whose  courtiers 
were  Pity,  Disdain,  Fair  Welcoming,  False  Semblant,  and 
the  like;  he  sat  in  judgment  and  heard  the  complaints  of 
suitors  against  their  hard-hearted  mistresses.  Strangest 
of  all,  to  our  thinking,  is  the  religious  convention.  The 
lady  was  the  '  saint '  to  whom  one  prayed.  The  God  or 
Goddess  of  Love  was  addressed  in  terms  appropriate  to 
the  Deity.  Faithful  lovers  were  Cupid's  'saints.'  Dido 
and  Phyllis,  who  died  for  Love,  were  Love's  'martyrs.' 
As  the  Church  recognized  seven  deadly  sins  and  seven 
principal  virtues,  so  there  were  sins  and  virtues  in  the 
worship  of  Love.  Plence  came  many  figurative  ex- 
pressions which  to  us  sound  blasphemous  or,  at  least,  in 
very  bad  taste.  But  the  religion  of  the  Middle  Ages  was 
not  remote  from  life.  It  was  a  matter  of  course,  which 
nobody  hesitated  to  talk  about,  and  consequently  such 
figures  conveyed  no  hint  of  irreverence.  One  of  the  first 
and  best  effects  of  intelligent  linguistic  study  is  to  eman- 
cipate us  from  that  form  of  provincialism  which  erects 
the  present  fashions  in  language  into  eternal  canons  of 
criticism. 

The  Elizabethan  age  was  marked  rather  by  the  preva- 
lence of  every  possible  kind  of  literary  mannerism  than 


FASHION    IN    LANGUAGE  117 

by  the  predominance  of  any.  Euphuism  was  only  one  of 
several  fashions  in  speech  and  writing.  The  language  of 
the  Euphuist  was  not,  as  has  often  been  thought,  full 
of  strange  and  affected  words.  So  far  as  mere  vocabulary 
is  concerned,  it  was  usually  pure  and  dignified.  But  it 
resorted  to  excessive  antithesis;  it  balanced  itself  so  nicely 
from  clause  to  clause  as  to  make  monotony  into  a  fine  art; 
and  it  heightened  false  point  by  puerile  tricks  of  allitera- 
tion and  jingle.  Besides  all  this,  it  was  overloaded  with 
far-fetched  similes  from  what  passed  for  natural  history. 
These  peculiarities  are  all  illustrated  in  the  following 
passage  from  Lyly's  Euphues,  a  kind  of  moral  romance, 
from  which  the  style  in  question  takes  its  name : '  — 

It  fareth  with  me,  Psellus,  as  with  the  osti'ich,  who  pricketh  none 
but  herself,  which  causeth  her  to  run  when  she  -would  rest;  or  as  with 
the  pelican,  who  striketh  blood  out  of  her  own  body  to  do  others  good; 
or  with  the  wood-culver,  wlio  plucketh  off  her  feathers  in  winter  to 
keep  others  from  the  cold;  or  as  with  the  stork,  who,  when  she  is 
least  able,  carrieth  the  greatest  burthen.  So  I  practise  all  tilings  that 
may  hurt  me,  to  do  her  good  that  never  regardeth  my  pains,  so  far  is 
she  from  rewarding  them. 

The  coinage  of  strange  words,  the  borrowing  of  new 
terms  from  the  classic  languages,  and  excessive  Latiniza- 
tion,  were  also  characteristics  of  the  Elizabethans.  Hence 
the  contemporary  satire  on  'ink-horn  terms.'  A  rough- 
and-ready  caricature  is  Rowlands'  'Signieur  Word-Monger, 
the  Ape  of  Eloquence'  (1600):  — 

As  on  the  way  I  itinerated, 
A  rural  person  I  obviated, 
Interrogating  time's  transitation 

J  Euphues  is  the  hero's  name.  It  is  Gr.  evctjvrjs,  '  of  an  excellent  nature,' 
from  e5,  'well,'  and  0i;w,  'to  be  born.'  E5  is  familiar  to  us  in  e^i-phony 
((puvq,  'sound'),  and  euphemism  (0u"'i  'to  say");  (pina  we  have  in 
jihusics,  physiciaii,  ph>jsiuluy>j,  and  so  on. 


118  WORDS   AND    THEIR    WAYS 

And  of  the  passage  demonstration. 
My  apprehension  did  ingenious  scan 
That  he  was  merely  a  simplician  ; 
So  when  I  saw  he  was  extravagant, 
Unto  the  obscure  vulgar  consonant, 
I  bade  him  vanish  most  promiscuously, 
And  not  contaminate  my  company. 

Translated  into  plain  English,  this  farrago  means  merely : 
'  As  I  was  walking  in  the  road,  I  met  a  countryman,  who 
asked  me  the  time  and  the  way.  When  I  saw  he  was  a 
vagabond,  and  belonged  to  the  common  people,  I  told  him 
to  begone  and  not  disgrace  me  by  his  company.' 

Another  trick  of  Elizabethan  writers  was  to  archaize. 
Chaucer  was  much  read  and  ■•  Chaucerisms '  were  abun- 
dant. The  most  eminent  of  all  archaizers  is  Spenser,  only 
a  small  part  of  whose  poetry  is  written  in  the  language  of 
his  time.  The  influence  of  France,  in  which  a  remarkable 
literary  movement  was  then  in  progress,  has  been  traced 
in  some  (^f  the  Elizabethan  whimsicalities.^  Spain  and 
Italy  were  also  potent  forces.  Euphuism  itself  is  com- 
monly referred  to  Spanish  influence,  and  certainly  shows 
much  likeness  to  the  celebrated  Guevara. 

Sometimes  sham  antiques  have  slipped  in.  Spenser,  the 
most  distinguished  of  all  our  archaizers,  made  many  mis- 
takes, and  his  imitators  in  the  eighteentli  and  nineteenth 
centuries  were  not  better  instructed.  Thus  the  strange 
compound  noun  derring-do^  which  he  introduced,  and 
which  has  had  some  currency  in  the  sense  of  '  courage,' '  val- 
orous achievement,'  is  due  to  a  headlong  misunderstand- 
ing of  a  passage  in  Chaucer,  '  in  derring  do  that  longeth 
to  a  knight,'  i.e.  '  in  daring  to  do  what  belongs  to  a  knight.' 

1  See  J.  B.  Fletcher,  Areopagus  and  Plciade,  in  Journal  of  Germanic 
Philology,  II,  429-53. 


FASHION   IN   LANGUAGE  119 

So  iicis,  an  adverb  meaning  'certainly'  (cognate  with  Ger. 
getviss'),  has  usually  been  treated  l)y  archaizing  writers  as 
if  it  were  a  pronoun  and  a  verb,  —  I  wis,  'I  know,'  — 
thougli  this  is  an  impossible  form,  —  the  present  tense 
being  really  /  2vot,  and  the  preterite  I  iviste  (cf ,  the  bibli- 
cal, 'he  wist  not  what  he  said').  Ti'oiv  really  means  'to 
think,'  but  it  has  often  been  used  as  a  synonym  for  '  I 
know.'  Gramarye  is  set  down  in  all  the  dictionaries  as 
meaning  'magic'  (like  Fr.  grimoire^  which  has  the  same 
origin),  but  the  only  old  sense  of  this  word  that  can  be 
discovered  in  English  is  '  grammar,'  —  its  original  and 
proper  meaning.  It  looks  as  if  the  sense  of  'magic'  were 
a  coinage  of  Bishop  Percy's,  —  a  clever  coinage,  it  must 
be  admitted,  or  a  happy  blunder,  for  nothing  ever  had 
more  the  air  of  a  tine  old  word.^  The  connection  between 
the  idea  of  'grammar'  (/.e.  'learning')  and  'magic'  is 
also  close,  and  the  Fr.  grimoire^  '  a  conjuring  book,'  shows 
how  natural  the  development  is. 

Finally,  we  may  mention  the  universal  Elizabethan  habit 
of  punning,  wliicli  pervaded  conversation  and  literature 
alike.  Every  kind  of  play  on  words  was  common,  from 
the  merest  jingle  in  sound  to  the  most  elaborate  calem- 
bour.  Puns  are  now  out  of  favoi",  probably  because  we 
think  that  the  punster  wishes  us  to  laugh  at  them.^  We 
should  be  careful,  however,  not  to  take  the  punning  habit 
of  the  Elizabethans  so  seriously.  Clearly  the  Elizabethans 
did  not  laugh  at  puns,  unless  they  were  peculiarly  amusing. 

1  See  Child,  English  and  Scottish  Popular  Ballads,  V,  .'UO. 

-  Pun  is  of  uncertain  etymology,  and  was  doubtless  a  slang  word  at 
the  outset.  It  is  commonly  referred  to  pound  (of  which  there  is  a  clipped 
iovm jian,  'to  beat,'  occurring  in  Shakspere).  An  older  word  is  clench 
or  clinch,  either  from  the  twist  in  the  meaning  of  the  words  punned  on 
or  from  the  sense  of  'repartee,'  —  something  that  clinches  the  argument. 
Quirk  {vi  'turn'  or  'flourish')  and  quip  (from  quid  pro  quo)  are  synonyms. 


120  WORDS   AND    THEIR    WAYS 

They  got  merely  a  certain  intellectual  titillation  out  of 
the  grotesque  association  of  ideas  which  punning  induced. 
The  pun  became  for  the  first  and  last  time  in  our  literary 
history  a  definite  feature  of  the  language.  Some  of  the 
commonest  puns  became  idiomatic,  and  attracted  no  atten- 
tion whatever.  Our  own  speech  always  seems  familiar  to 
us,  however  odd  it  may  sound  to  our  neighbors  over  the 
border,  in  space  or  in  time. 

In  general,  the  Elizabethans  handled  the  language  with 
the  greatest  freedom.  It  was  an  age  of  novelty.  The 
English  people  was  at  last  awake  to  its  importance  as  a 
[)ower  in  the  world  at  large.  It  was  ceasing  to  be  isolated, 
and  was  becoming  conscious  of  a  great  political  destiny. 
Discoveries,  as  of  the  New  World,  Utopian  schemes,  and 
phantom  commonwealths  were  in  the  air.  Men's  minds 
were  stimulated  in  the  highest  degree,  and  the  mental 
temper  was  alert  and  ready.  Fantastic  imitation  of  for- 
eign ways  was  inevitable.  Each  Elizabethan  felt  that  he 
was  an  individual,  and  burned  to  distinguish  himself,  if 
only  by  the  cut  of  his  coat.  It  was  the  age  of  Pericles, 
without  the  restraints  of  Greek  taste,  —  which,  however, 
were  not  so  binding  on  the  actual  Athenians  as  they  have 
become  in  the  tradition  of  retrosj^ective  critics.  The  stage 
reproduces  for  us  almost  every  trick  of  Elizabethan  speech 
and  manners.  The  mere  vocabulary  of  a  single  dramatist 
would  wreck  his  reputation  with  the  jjurists  if  he  were  a 
modern. 

In  the  next  age,  thought,  literature,  and  language  were 
influenced  by  those  complex  causes  which  we  sum  up  rather 
vaguely  as  'Puritanism.'  The  most  obvious  effect  on  our 
language  was  to  bring  theology  and  biblical  turns  of  phrase 
into  the  common  speech  to  a  degree  unknown  before.  Yet 
it  would  be  a  serious  mistake  to  suppose  that  any  great 


FASHION  I^'  LANGUAGE  ]21 

number  of  the  religious  words  that  are  now  a  part  of 
our  ordinary  vocabukiry  are  derived  from  this  movement. 
Most  of  them  had  been  in  the  language  for  a  long  time,  and 
many  had  gone  through  a  development  which  had  obscured 
their  origin,  so  that  they  were  no  longer  felt  as  religious 
allusions.  The  religious  vocabulary  was  not  the  invention 
of  the  Puritans,  nor  was  its  common  use  in  everyday  dia- 
logue a  specifically  Puritan  fashion.  What  the  Puritans 
did  was  to  carry  the  habit  out  to  its  ultimate  limits  in 
use.  They  also  made  constant  appeal  to  the  legislation  of 
the  Old  Testament,  and  thus  filled  the  language,  for  a 
time,  with  allusions  to  Hebrew  law  and  ritual,  as  well  as  to 
the  poets  and  prophets  of  the  Old  Dispensation.  In  short, 
they  focussed  their  minds  on  biblical  phraseology,  with 
results  that  permanently  affected  our  stock  of  words  and 
idioms.  In  New  England  these  forces  worked  with  pecu- 
liar power.  Congregationalism  was  long  established  by 
law,  and  all  who  refused  to  conform  to  that  system  were 
'dissenters."^  The  intellectual  history  of  Massachusetts, 
for  example,  was  practically  unaffected  by  the  Restora- 
tion. 

The  reaction  from  Puritanism  in  the  life  of  the  nation 
is  mirrored  in  the  language  of  tlie  eighteenth  century. 
Writers  were  in  constant  dread  of  'enthusiasm'  (which 
was  a  synonym  for  '  fanaticism  ')  and  '  the  romantic  '  (by 
which  was  meant  anything  fanciful  or  imaginative  or 
emotional  that  was  not  instantly  reducible  to  common 
sense).  Their  ideal  was  the  easy  elegance  of  language 
which  befits  a  cultivated  man  of  fashion.  Polish,  wit, 
and  epigram  were  the  mode.  Imagination  was  repressed. 
Warmth  of  feeling  was  not  to  be  uttered  without  sus- 

1  See  A.  C.  Goodell,  in  the  Publications  of  the  Colonial  Society  of 
Massachusetts,  I,   14U  if. 


122  WORDS   AND    THEIR    WAYS 

picioii  of  vulgarity.  The  good  writer,  it  was  held,  should 
steer  his  course  between  exaltation,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  dulness  on  the  other.  Above  all,  he  should  be  clear 
and  logical,  or  at  all  events,  should  have  the  semblance  of 
being  so.  To  preserve  one's  self-control  under  all  circum- 
stances, without  appearing  to  be  self-conscious,  was  to 
reach  the  acme  of  the  kind  of  excellence  then  most 
admired.     The  model  was  France,  the  polite  nation. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  eighteenth  century  had 
a  beneficial  effect  on  our  language.  In  particular,  it  made 
for  what  we  now  call  'grammatical  correctness.'  The 
regularity  of  English  syntax  is  mainly  due  to  the  tenden- 
cies which  we  have  been  describing,  ^lany  constructions, 
freely  used  in  the  Elizabethan  age,  were  gradually  dis- 
carded in  the  eighteenth  century  because  they  seemed  to 
be  irregular,  or  because  they  tended  to  ambiguity.  Simi- 
larly, the  meanings  of  words  became  more  limited,  with 
a  manifest  gain  in  exactness.  And  finally,  our  literary 
vocaljulary  was  subjected  to  a  purifying  process.  The 
Elizabethans,  as  we  have  seen,  were  very  free  in  coining 
new  words  or  in  reviving  old  ones,  and  the  learned  times 
liad  brought  in  many  sesquipedalian  terms  from  the  Latin. 
This  gave  a  peculiar  richness  to  Elizabethan  phrase- 
ology, and  a  fine  dignity  to  that  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury ;  but  such  processes  cannot  go  on  indefinitely  without 
removinar  the  lancruaQ-e  of  literature  too  far  from  that  of 
common  life.  A  period  of  rest  has  to  intervene,  that  the 
language  may,  so  to  speak,  take  account  of  stock,  or,'  to 
change  the  figure,  may  digest  what  it  has  somewhat  indis- 
criminately devoured.  The  eighteenth  century  was  such 
a  period.  No  better  standard  can  be  found  than  the  easy 
language  of  cultivated  men  who  are  neither  specialists 
nor  pedants,  and  this  was  the  standard  which  the  eigli- 


FASHION   IN   LANGUAGE  123 

teenth  century  used  in  codifying  'good  English.'  Many 
blunders  were  made  in  matters  of  detail,  but  the  general 
movement  was  sound,  and  its  results  were  good.  Of 
course,  this  schoolmastering  tendency  could  not  last  for- 
ever. Long  before  the  end  of  the  century  there  were 
revolts  against  the  repressive  canons  of  what  was  called 
good  taste,  and  the  language  began  once  more  to  go  on  in 
its  free  course  of  development.  There  is  such  a  thing  as 
pedantic  dread  of  pedantry,  and  as  soon  as  the  eighteenth 
century  reached  that  stage,  its  work  had  been  done,  and 
another  readjustment  began. 

What  is  called  the  'Romantic  Revival,'  toward  the  end 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  is  the  next  great  influence 
which  our  language  felt.  This  is  a  vague  term  for  a  very 
complicated  group  of  causes,  and  the  literary  historians 
find  some  trouble  in  defining  it.  The  effect  upon  our 
language,  however,  is  a  much  simpler  matter  to  study. 
There  was  a  revolt  against  French  neatness  and  '  correct- 
ness '  of  style,  a  return  to  the  older  models  of  English, 
—  to  Spenser,  and  Shakspere,  and  Milton.  Obsolete  and 
half-obsolete  words  were  revived,  not  always  with  an 
accurate  knowledge  of  their  sense.  Variety  and  striking 
effects  were  sought  after.  Metaphor  became  bolder,  and 
versification  was  freed  from  some  of  its  more  recent 
shackles.  Poetry  showed  this  first ;  and  in  the  nineteenth 
century  the  reaction  extended  itself  to  prose.  The  easiest 
catchword  for  the  revolt  is  '  individualism,'  as  opposed  to 
the  view  that  a  man  must  conform  his  language  to  that 
of  everybody  else,  or  that  all  must  follow  some  definite 
model  or  models,  ancient  or  modern.  We  have  a  feeling 
that  'the  style  is  the  man,'  and  that  every  author  is  there- 
fore entitled  to  use  that  form  of  languao'e  which  best 
expresses   his   individuality.      Thus    it   is   impossible    to 


124  WORDS   AND    THEIR    WAYS 

say  that  there  is  any  prevailing  style  that  marks  the 
nineteenth  century.  A  hundred  years  hence,  when  the 
small  men  have  sunk  out  of  sight,  and  only  a  few  great 
authors  emerge  from  the  level  of  forgotten  medocrity,  the 
future  historian  may  be  able  to  characterize  nineteenth- 
.  century  English,  but  it  cannot  be  done  by  a  contemporary. 
In  one  and  the  same  author,  we  often  find  marked  preci- 
osity of  phrase  cheek  by  jowl  with  the  baldest  colloqui- 
alism. Affected  brutality  of  diction  associates  itself  on 
the  same  page  with  equally  affected  sentimental  refine- 
ment. In  some  particulars,  however,  we  can  hardly  go 
wrong.  It  is  certain,  as  we  have  already  remarked,  that 
the  progress  of  science  and  mechanics,  and  the  widespread 
popular  interest  in  discovery  and  invention,  have  pro- 
foundly modified  our  vocabulary.  Another  influence,  of  a 
widely  different  kind,  has  come  from  the  almost  passionate 
study  of  literature  as  a  fine  art,  and  from  the  consequent 
development  of  literary  criticism.  And,  finally,  there  has 
never  been  a  time  in  tlie  history  of  our  language  when 
'  syntactical  correctness '  has  ruled  with  so  capricious  and 
tyrannical  a  sway.  The  proof-reader  has  become  a  court 
of  last  resort  for  many  of  us. 

We  have  now  considered  not  only  the  great  movements 
which  brought  the  English  language  to  pass,  but  some  of 
the  modifying  influences  or  'fashions'  to  which  it  has 
been  subjected  from  age  to  age.  Among  the  fashions, 
we  have  counted  mere  tricks  of  style,  like  the  Anglo-Saxon 
tautology,  and  such  far-reaching  social  and  religious 
forces  as  Puritanism.  Despite  all  these  modifying  influ- 
ences, we  observe  that  the  English  tongue  is  still  the 
English  tongue.  It  has  changed  much  since  the  East 
Midland  became  the  literary  language  five  hundred  years 
ago,  yet   all  the  changes  have  not  essentially    modified 


FASHION  IN  LANGUAGE  125 

its  character.     The  'genius  of  the  language'  is  still  the 

same. 

Such  persistence  of  uniformity  in  the  face  of  chance 
and  change  challenges  our  attention.  Words,  as  we 
know,  are  but  the  signs  of  thought.  They  do  nothing 
of  themselves,  and  have  only  such  senses  as  the  mind  of 
the  speaker  and  the  hearer  gives  them.  Yet,  when  we 
observe  their  conduct  in  the  presence  of  various  forces 
that  act  upon  them,  they  almost  seem  to  have  an  inde- 
pendent life,  apart  from  the  mind  of  the  man  who  uses 
them. 

And,  indeed,  this  is  in  a  manner  true.  For  no  sooner 
has  an  idea  been  expressed  in  words  than  the  form  of 
expression  reacts  on  the  speaker  and  influences  his  subse- 
quent thought.  If  this  happens  in  the  case  of  a  casual 
utterance,  phrased  in  a  conventional  way,  how  much  more 
powerful  must  have  been  the  reaction  in  the  minds  of 
those  whose  first  acquaintance  with  that  idea  was  associ- 
ated with  the  particular  form  of  language  in  which  it 
was  couched  !  Every  one  knows  how  a  peculiar  or  strik- 
ing phrase,  embodying  a  certain  thought,  may  recur  to  the 
memory  whenever  the  thought  comes  back  to  us,  and 
thus,  by  a  kind  of  haunting  persistence,  make  it  difficult 
to  phrase  the  thought  otherwise.  We  all  have  our  favor- 
ite catchwords,  which,  originating  in  this  way,  liave 
become  as  much  a  part  of  our  individuality  as  our  tricks 
of  gait  or  gesture  or  facial  expression. 

Now,  in  long  lapses  of  time  the  continuance  of  similar 
impressions  produces  in  one  speaker  a  mode  or  habit  of 
thought  consonant  with  that  of  others.  The  several 
impressions  in  the  mind  as  a  particular  word  is  constantly 
used  act  somewhat  like  objects  in  a  composite  photogra])li: 
all   thiit   is   alike   is  constanlly   accumulating,   while   that 


126  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

which  is  individual  or  peculiar  is  as  rapidly  dissipated. 
Tlius  there  arises  a  regular  and  persistent  mode  of 
thought,  and  consequently  of  expression,  which  more  or 
less  dominates  the  form  of  the  language  in  the  mouths 
of  all  its  speakers,  whether  they  mean  to  be  guided  by  it 
or  not.  To  this  tendency  the  Germans  have  given  the 
expressive  name  Sprachjefiilil,  or  'speech-feeling.'  We 
have  no  settled  term  for  it  in  English,  —  that  is,  no  name 
which  our  Sprachgef'dhl  has  accepted,  —  so  that  we  are 
more  or  less  in  the  habit  of  employing  the  German  word. 

It  is  of  course  absurd  to  ascribe  feeling  to  language, 
except  in  a  metaphorical  way.  Fortunately,  however,  the 
vague  syntax  of  composition  (see  p.  177)  allows  tlie  Ger- 
man word  to  mean  a  '  feeling /or  speech'  as  well  as  'feel- 
ing of  speech,'  and  by-and-by  we  shall  either  adopt  the 
term  as  an  English  word,  or  the  feiiintj  itself  will  accept 
some  other  suitable  phrase  to  express  the  idea.  For  the 
SpracligefuU  is  a  very  real  thing  in  a  long-cultivated  lan- 
guage like  our  own.  It  affects  every  word  that  we  utter, 
tliough  we  may  think  that  we  are  speaking  as  the  whim 
of  the  moment  dictates;  and  thus  it  is  the  strongest  and 
most  pervasive  of  all  conservative  forces,  and  has  kept 
our  language  true  to  itself  through  all  the  vicissitudes 
which  we  have  been  describing. 

The  writer  has  a  thousand  times  had  occasion  to  notice 
the  difference  in  tliis  Sprachgefiild  in  the  use  of  Latin, 
French,  and  English,  and  has  constantly  been  surprised 
at  the  way  in  which  the  language  insisted  upon  writing 
itself  almost  in  spite  of  him.  Thus  a  monumental  sim- 
plicity of  style  and  a  single  point  of  view  are  almost 
inseparable  from  a  Latin  essay;  French  must  make  itself 
scintillating  and  epigrammatic;  and  it  is  almost  impossible 
not  to  be  copious  and  diffuse  in  writing  English. 


FASHION  IN  LANGUAGE  127 

No  author,  however  eminent,  can  disregard  this  su])tle 
and  pervasive  haw.  Men  of  genius  may  take  great  hher- 
ties  with  their  mother  tongue  without  offence ;  but  let 
them  once  run  counter  to  its  cliaracteristic  tendencies,  let 
them  violate  the  Englisli  Sprachgefilhl,  and  their  manner- 
ism becomes,  as  it  were,  a  foreign  language.  They  are 
writing  not  English,  but  —  say  Carlylese. 


CHAPTER  X 

COMPLEXITY  OF  THE  ENGLISH  VOCABULARY 

No  language  has  so  complex  and  varied  a  vocabulary 
as  English.  Our  everyday  speech  includes  a  multitude 
of  words  from  all  periods  of  history,  and  every  quarter  of 
the  globe.  All  the  great  civilizations  have  contributed  to 
our  vocabulary.  Indeed,  the  history  of  English  words  is 
the  history  of  our  civilization  in  all  its  aspects.  A  few 
examples  will  illustrate  these  truths  in  a  striking  way. 
Only  familiar  words  have  been  chosen,  but  these  have  been 
made  as  miscellaneous  as  possible  in  order  to  bring  out  the 
complexity  of  the  subject. 

Candy  comes  from  the  Arabic  qand,  'sugar';  the  Arabs 
got  their  word  from  the  Persian,  and  its  ultimate  source 
seems  to  be  Indian,  for  it  is  connected  in  some  manner 
with  a  Sanskrit  verb  which  means  'break'  ('fragments  of 
crystallized  sugar').  Sugar  has  a  similar  history,  being 
derived  from  Arabic,  and  by  Arabic  from  Sanskrit.  Mo- 
Ias?ses,  on  the  contrary,  is  from  L.  mellaeeus,  'honeylike' 
(from  mel  '  honey,'  whence  melli-fluous,  '  honey-flowing,' 
which  we  use  of  a  sweet  sound).  Rum,  the  name  of  a 
third  product  of  sugar-cane,  seems  to  be  of  English  origin; 
an  older  form  is  rumbuUion,  apparently  a  dialectic  English 
word  for  'disturbance,'  or  'racket';  thus  in  its  original 
application  to  a  kind  of  liquor  it  was  a  mere  bit  of  humor- 
ous slang.  Treacle  for  '  sugar-syrup'  (also  for  '  molasses") 
is  ultimately  derived  from  ;i,  Orook  word  signifying  'an  au- 

]2S 


COMPLEXITY  OF  THE  ENGLISH   VOCABULARY      129 

ticlote  for  the  bite  of  a  wild  beast.'  ^  All  of  these  words, 
except  rum,  reached  our  language  through  the  French; 
rum,  however,  has  been  borrowed  by  French- from  English. 

A  scolding  woman  is  a  scold,  shrew,  vixen,  termaga7it,  or 
virago.  The  first  three  words  are  of  native  origin.  Scold 
goes  back  to  a  root  which  means  '  to  shove  or  push  ';  slweiv 
means  'cursed'  (cf.  curst,  an  old  word  for  'ill-tempered'), 
and  it  is  connected  with  shrewd;  vixen  is  the  feminine 
form  of  fox  (cf.  Ger.  Fuchs,  FUchsi7i)\  termagant  is  a  by- 
form  of  Tervagant  (of  unknown  etymology),  supposed  in 
former  times  to  be  a  savage  god  of  the  Saracens  ;  virago  is 
a  Latin  word,  borrowed  without  change  of  form;  its  origi- 
nal sense  is  '  a  manly  woman  '  (vir,  '  man  '),  '  a  heroine,' 
'an  amazon.'  The  adjective  cross  is  ultimately  from  L. 
crux  ('a  cross  ■),2  and  means  first  'lying  crosswise  or 
athwart,'  then  'contrary  or  perverse,'  and  finally  'ill-tem- 
pered.' Ill-tempered  means  literally  '  ill-mixed,'  and  refers 
to  the  mixture  of  the  humors  in  a  person's  system;  a  dis- 
turbance of  the  balance  of  this  mixture  puts  one  '  out  of 
sorts.'  Ill  comes  from  the  Scandinavian,  temper  from  the 
Latin ;  so  that  the  adjective  last  mentioned  is  a  hybrid 
compound  representing  two  widely  separated  civilizations 
which  came  into  contact  with  each  other  in  the  British 
Islands,  Ill-humored  has  the  same  source  ;  it  refers  liter- 
ally to  one  whose  humors  (see  p.  30)  are  in  bad  order. 

Pheasant  comes  through  French  and  Latin  from  Fhasis, 
the  Greek  name  of  a  river  in  Asia.  Turkeys  were  thought 
to  have  come  from  Turkey  ;  hence  the  name  ;  the  word 
Turk  itself  is  from  the  Persian,  but  is  probably  of  Tartar 
origin.  Parrot  is  'little  Peter,'  from  Fr.  Pierrot,  though 
no  one  knows  why  the  bird  was  so  called  ;  paroquet  has 

1  See  p.  200  for  ck'tails. 

2  For  the  history  of  the  word  see  p.  -'349, 


130  WOnDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

the  same  meaning,  and  so  has  petrel  (Fr.  petrel).  In  the 
last  instance  there  is  ]Derh;ips  an  allusion  to  St.  Peter's 
walking  on  the  sea.  Rohm  is  of  course  a  diminutive  of 
Robert.,  which  is  an  Old  High  German  proper  name 
(meaning  '  bright  in  fame ')  that  has  reached  us  through 
the  French  to  remind  us  that  French  civilization  is  partly 
of  Teutonic  origin.  Thrush,  icren,  and  throstle  are  native 
English  words,  and  so  is  dove;  hut  jn;/ eon  is  French,  from 
L.  2)ipio,  'a  peeper,'  'a  chirper.'  Eagle  is  French,  from 
L.  aquila  (perhaps  from  aquilus,  'dark  brown'). 

Oar  came  to  us  from  the  Norman  carre,  used  for  almost 
any  vehicle.  Carre  was  from  the  late  Latin  carra,  L. 
carrus.  The  Romans  took  the  word  from  the  Celts.  In 
England  car  has  become,  in  the  main,  a  poetical  word  for 
'chariot,'  or  the  like,  as  in  Milton's  'car  of  night.'  In 
America,  however,  it  is  still  in  popular  use  in  a  special 
sense  in  connection  with  'rapid  transit'  (see  p.  271). 
We  speak  of  '  steam  cars,'  '  railway  cars,'  '  passenger  cars,' 
' freight  cars,'  'horse  cars,'  'electric  cars,'  etc.,  and  use  the 
simple  car  as  a  generic  term  for  them  all.  For  Ameri- 
cans, then,  its  associations  are  distinctly  prosaic.  Car- 
riage (also  from  Norman  French)  is  properly  an  abstract 
or  noun  of  action  from  the  verb  derived  from  carre. 
It  is  used  both  abstractly  and  concretel}^  (for  a  single 
vehicle).  Vehicle  (still  a  rather  literary  or  learned 
word)  is  borrowed  directly  from  L.  vehicuhim  (from  vehere, 
to  'convey,'  cognate  with  Eng.  wag}.  Cart  is  of  un- 
certain etymology,  but  must  be  connected  with  A.S. 
crcet,  'cart.'  It  is  perhaps  akin  to  O.  H.  Ger.  cratto, 
'basket  or  hamper.'  (Crate,  from  L.  cnltis,  'hurdle,'  is 
a  different  word.)  Wagon,  or  loaggon,  comes  from  Dutch 
or  Low  German.  The  native  English  term  is  wain  (A.S. 
wcegn,  akin  to  way'),   a  related  word,  which  has  become 


COMPLEXITY  OF  THE  ENGLISH   VOCABULARY      131 

poetical.  Coach  is  a  much  later  word  ;  it  was  introduced 
from  the  French  eoche  in  the  sixteenth  century  (when 
coaches  came  into  use).  It  was  originally  a  Hungarian 
adjective,  from  the  name  of  the  town  Kocs  (pronounced 
kotcJi)^  so  that  coach  is  like  berlin,  landau,  hansom  (cf. 
Concord  tvagon,  Bath  or  Sedan  chair,  etc.),  and  arises  from 
the  omission  of  the  generic  noun  which  the  adjective  lim- 
its.^ Drai/  is  the  A.S.  drage,  'dragnet,'  from  dragan,  'to 
draw.'  It  is  connected  with  dredge,  but  dredge  (though 
originally  Teutonic)  comes  directly  from  Fr.  drege.  Lo- 
comotive is  a  learned  formation  (like  Fr.  locomotif),  made 
as  if  from  a  Latin  locomofivus  (loco-,  stem  of  locus,  'place,' 
+  motivus,  from  movere  'move').  In  the  case  of  such 
learned  words  it  is  sometimes  impossible  to  tell  whether 
they  were  made  up  directly  from  the  Latin  or  borrowed 
from  the  French,  since  the  first  user  of  them  often  had 
both  languages  in  mind,  and,  even  if  he  were  imitating  a 
French  word,  did  so  on  the  basis  of  Latin  forms  that  were 
familiar  to  him..  As  we  have  already  remarked,  the  Latin 
words  that  our  language  borrowed  directly  have  usually 
been  treated  after  the  analogy  of  French  formations,  them- 
selves taken  from  Latin.^  The  full  form  is  locomotive  en- 
gine. Locomotive  has  never  become  truly  popular,  —  the 
commonest  term  being  simply  engine,  an  interesting  case 
of  successive  specialization  (see  p.  248). 

Cah  was  originally  slang.  It  is  shorthand  for  cabriolet, 
— a  French  diminutive  of  cabriole.  The  latter  comes  from 
the  Italian  cabriola,  itself  a  diminutive  of  L.  capra,  '  she- 
goat.'  The  application  of  the  name  to  a  light  vehicle  is  a 
manifest  joke.  Calash  is  merely  an  English  pronunciation 
of  Fr.  caleche,  which  is  of  Slavonic  origin.     The  original 

1  See  pp.  253  ff,  2  gee  p.  95. 


132  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

calashes  had  a  removable  top, —  hence  the  word  was  also 
applied  to  a  kind  of  hood.  Barouche  is  the  German  Ba- 
rutsche,  respelled  in  the  French  fashion  under  the  impression 
that  it  was  a  French  word.  The  Germans  took  Barutsche 
from  the  Italian,  its  final  source  being  the  Latin  birotus, 
'two-wheeled'  (from  rota^  'wheel').  Chaise  is  a  much- 
worn  form  of  the  Greek  KaOehpa  (^kathedra'),  'a  chair.' 
It  has  passed  through  L.  cathedra  (whence  cathedral,  from 
the  bishop's  throne),  and  Fr.  chaire,  '  pulpit,'  the  form 
chaise  being  an  old  Parisian  dialectic  pronunciation  of 
chaire.  The  word  chaise  is  older  than  the  vehicle.  When 
first  borrowed  in  English  it  was  applied  to  a  litter  (like  a 
'Sedan  chair'"').  Shay  (eliay^  is  a  seventeenth-century 
form  (always  regarded  as  vulgar),  due  to  the  idea  that 
chaise  was  a  plural  (cf.  pea  from  pease;  vulgar  corp  from 
corjjse'). 

Bicycle  is  an  artificial  modern  formation  from  the  Latin 
prefix  In-,  which  has  long  been  freely  used  in  English 
(especially  in  scientific  terms),  and  cycle,  itself  a  deriva- 
tive (through  the  Latin  and  perhaps  the  French)  from 
Gr.  kvk\o<;  (kfiklos),  'wheel.'  The  English  word  is 
well  formed,^  and  conveys  an  appropriate  sense.  The 
mere  fact  that  it  is  a  hybrid  compound  does  not  make 
it  any  the  less  acceptable  English.  Observe  the  rapid 
shortening  of  the  word  to  plain  cycle,  A  curious  twist, 
clcycle,  sometimes  heard  from  the  ignorant  in  England, 
illustrates  both  the  tendency  to  assimilation  of  sounds  and 
that  to  reduplication.  In  less  educated  times  this  form 
would  have  a  good  chance  to  prevail,  since,  like  all  such 

1  Unlike  its  predecessor  velocipede  (from  L.  velox,  velocis,  'swift,'  and 
pw,  pedis,  'foot'),  whicli  was  apparently  intended  to  signify  '  something 
rapidly  propelled  by  the  rider's  feet.'  If,  however,  velocipede  meant 
simply  'swift-footed,'  the  word  was  legitimately  made, 


COMPLEXITY  OF  THE  ENGLISH    VOCABULARY       133 

vulgar  distortions,  it  obeys  the  dominating  tendencies  of 
linguistic  change. 

Sjnee  is  the  same  word  as  species  and  specie.  It  comes 
from  the  Latin  species  '  kind,'  through  O.  Fr.  espice,  and 
in  Middle  English  meant  both  'kind'  and  'spice.'  The 
latter  sense  is  a  queer  specialization  and  must  have  come 
through  trade,  —  there  were  different  kinds  of  these 
aromatic  substances,  and  so  spices  came  to  be  used  for  the 
substances  themselves.  Species  was  later  borrowed  directly 
from  Latin  without  alteration.  Specie  is  the  ablative  of 
species^  and  comes  from  the  Latin  phrase  zw  specie., —  used 
for  payment  in  gold  or  silver  (from  the  sense  of  '  treasure,' 
'coin,'  which  sjjeaies  took  in  late  Latin).  Notice  that 
from  the  noun  species,  a  vulgar  singular  specie  for  'kind' 
has  been  formed,  species  looking  like  a  plural.^ 

Pepper  is  the  Anglo-Saxon  jyfpoj',  borrowed  from  h.pipe7\ 
which  came  from  the  Greek;  but  the  Greeks  themselves 
took  the  word  from  the  Orient.  Cinnamon  is  the  Hebrew 
qinndmon.,  which  is  borrowed  from  some  other  Eastern 
tongue.  The  older  English  form  is  cinnamom,  from  L.  cin- 
namomum,  itself  from  the  Hebrew.  But  this  English  form 
was  made  over  by  scholars  who  were  familiar  with  He- 
brew and  thought  cinnamom  erroneous.  Ginger  is  also  an 
Eastern  word.  Its  earliest  English  form  was  gingiver, 
from  O.  Fr.  gengibre,  from  L.  zingiber,  from  Gr.  ^L'yjL^ept'i 
(^zingiber is),  from  some  Oriental  language.  The  literal 
meaning  is  '  horn-shaped,'  from  the  shape  of  the  root. 
Allspice  is  so  called  from  its  supposed  composite  flavor  of 
cloves,  nutmegs,  and  cinnamon.  Nutmeg  (]M.E.  notemuge') 
is  a  hybrid  compound  of  English  nut  (older  note^  and 
O.  Fr.  muge,  'musk.' 

Grocer  is  literally  one  who  sells  at  wholesale  (en  gros')  ; 

1  See  p.  lo9. 


134  WORDS  AND   TUEIR    WAYS 

it  is  a  comparatively  modern  word  in  its  present  ap- 
plication. Doctor  (literally  '  teacher,'  as  in  '  Doctor  of 
Divinity ')  is  a  title  used  as  an  appellative ;  its  common 
application  to  physicians  is  due  to  the  fact  that  '  doctors 
of  medicine "  outnumber  all  other  kinds  of  doctors.  Car- 
peiiter  is  from  L.L.  carpentarius  (through  the  French), 
which  meant  formerly  *■  wagon-maker,'  from  L.  carpentum, 
'wagon,'  related  to  car  and,  like  car,  of  Celtic  origin. 
Cordivainer,  'shoemaker,'  has  nothing  to  do  with  cord;  it 
is  the  Old  French  cordoanier,  a  worker  in  cordouan  or 
Cordovan  leather  (whence  Eng.   cordivahi). 

Shop  is  the  Anglo-Saxon  seeoppa,  'storehouse,'  'booth.' 
Store,  from  O.  Fr.  e^tor,  'provisions'  (which  is  from 
L.  (in^stau7\ire,  'to  restore'),  meant  in  older  English 
'  a  collection '  or  *•  accumulation,'  especially  of  goods ; 
hence  it  came  to  mean  'a  storehouse'  or  'depot.'  In  the 
United  States  and  the  British  Colonies  any  shop  where 
goods  are  sold,  large  or  small,  is  often  called  a  store.  This 
is  not  mere  provincial  grandiloquence,  as  is  often  supposed, 
but  results  from  the  fact  that,  when  the  use  grew  up, 
the  places  in  question  were  really  storehouses,  —  as  every 
'  shop '  in  a  new  country  must  necessarily  be.  Emporium, 
as  often  used,  is  deliberate  and  half-humorous  magnilo- 
(juence.  The  word  means  properly  a  market-town  or 
centre  of  trade,  and  is  a  mere  Latinization  of  the  Greek 
e/jLTTopiov  (e7np)6rio7i),  'trading  post'  or  'factory.'  Factory 
is  ivoiw  factor,  'agent.'  A  factory  was  formerly  a  trading 
post  or  establishment  for  the  agents  of  a  foreign  trading 
company,  —  as  '•  i\\Q  factories  of  the  East  India  Company.' 
Later  it  was  transferred  to  its  present  meaning  of  '  manu- 
factory'  (\j.  manus,  'hand'),  being  in  a  manner  rederived 
fi'om  \  J.  factor  ium}  'a  place  Avhere  things  are  made.' 


In  classical  Latiu,/aciu/'iM//i  has  taken  the  special  sense  of  'oil-press.' 


COMPLEXITY  OF   THE  ENGLISH   VOCABULARY      135 

Pretty  is  the  Anglo-Saxon  ji?r«^ti^,  ^  sly,'  which  may  come 
in  a  roundabout  way  (possibly  through  the  Celtic)  from 
L.L.  'practica^  'practice,'  'plot'  (which  is  from  Gr. 
'TrpaTTO),  prdttO,  'do,'  'make').  The  transition  in  mean- 
ing from  'sly'  to  the  present  sense  of  pretty  is  doubtless 
through  the  notion  of  'cleverness.'  Compare  the  American 
nursery  term  cunning  of  a  bright  or  amusing  little  child 
(^cunning  means  literally  'knowing,'  and  had  at  first  no 
bad  sense). ^  So  Jiandsoine  is  literally  'dexterous,'  'handy  ' 
(^-some  being  the  suffix  seen  in  winsome^  gladsome^  etc.). 
Beautiful  is  a  French  word,  beaufe,  with  an  English  suffix. 
Beatify  itself  is  from  L.L.  beUifas^  from  L.  bellus,  'pretty.' 
Lovely  is  of  course  from  love.  Observe  that  all  these 
adjectives,  especially  pretty,  the  oldest  of  them  in  English, 
show  traces  of  being  used  as  pet  names  or  endearing 
adjectives.  This  is,  indeed,  enough  to  account  for  what 
seems  at  first  the  strange  cliange  of  sense  which  pretty  has 
undergone.  The  fantastical  language  of  affection  often 
makes  pet  names  out  of  abusive  ones.  So  Othello  calls 
Desdemona  'excellent  wretch,''  and  King  Lear  speaks  of 
Cordelia  as  'my  poor /ooL'  Rascal,  worm,  villain,  tyTce 
('  cur '),  goose,  and  even  snake,  have  all  been  used  in  this 
way  ;  cf .  the  L.  asellus,  '  little  donkey.'  We  should  remem- 
ber Helena's  list  of 

Pretty,  fund,  udoptious  cliristendums 
That  blinking  Cupid  gossips, 

in  All's  Well  That  Ends  Well. 

Coi'n  is  a  native  word  (akin  to  L.  gratuini,  whence 
grain  is  derived) ;  its  original  sense  is  '  a  single  grain,'  as 
in  the  biblical  'a  corn  of  wheat,'  and  kernel  is  its  diminu- 

i  On  the  change  of  meaning  in  sl'j,  cun)iiu(j,  and  knowing,  see  p.  289. 


136  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

tive.i  Collectively  corn  is  used  in  England  for  any  kind 
of  grain.  In  the  United  States,  however,  the  word 
(Avhen  used  without  an  adjective)  regularl}^  means 
'maize'  or  'Indian  corn,'  and  is  never  applied  to  wheat, 
rye,  barley,  or  oats.  3Iaize  (a  term  seldom  heard  in  the 
United  States)  is  a  Haytian  word,  mahiz  (or  mahis^, 
which  came  into  our  language  through  the  Spanish  tnaiz. 

Ink  comes  (O.  Fr.  enque,  modern  encre')  from  eneaustum, 
a  Latinization  of  Gr.  ejKavarov  {enkaustoii)^  '  something 
burnt  in,'  connected  with  caustic  and  holocaust.  Pen  is 
simply  'feather'  (Fr.  penne  from  h.  penna).  Paper  is  the 
papyrus  plant  (French,  from  Latin,  from  Greek).  Parch- 
ment comes  (through  the  French)  from  L.  Peryamenus.,  an 
adjective  from  Perganium.,  a  city  in  Asia.  Write  is  a 
native  word  which  meant  originally  '  to  scratch.'  Book 
is  also  native,  but  it  meant  originally  'beech,'  for  our 
ancestors  used  to  cut  runic  letters  on  wooden  staves  or 
rods  ;  cf .  Ger.  BuGhstalnm,  '  letters  of  the  alphabet '  (liter- 
ally 'beech-staves').  Alphabet  is  from  the  Greek  letters 
alpha  and  beta  (our  A  and  B). 

For  '  precious  stone '  the  Anglo-Saxons  had  a  mysterious 
word  eorcnan-stan.  They  also  borrowed  gemma  from  the 
Latin,  in  the  form  gim,  and  this  survived  as  a  native  word 
till  the  fourteenth  centur3\  Li  that  century,  however,  in 
which  the  influence  of  French  and  Latin  was  particularly 
strong,  the  word  was  remade  and  brought  nearer  to  its 
Latin  original,  taking  the  form  gemme.  This  remaking  is 
usually  said  to  have  been  under  the  influence  of  the 
French  gemme  (itself  from  the  Latin),  —  but  this  is  not  so 
certain ;    for    it    is    not   possible    to    separate    Latin   and 

1  Anglo-Saxon  cyriiel  is  a  regular  diminutive  of  corn,  showing  the 
diminutive  ending  -el  (related  to  the  Latin  ending  \n  Jllio-Iuft.  'little 
son')  and  '  umlaut'  or  vowel-mutation  (as  in  gold,  fjyldeu,  'golden'). 


COIIPLEXITY   OF  THE  ENGLISH   VOCABULART      137 

French  influence  in  a  case  like  this.  Javel  is  certainly 
from  the  French.  It  is  a  diminutive  of  L.  jocus  (whence 
Fr.  jeu),  and  meant  originally  '  plaything.'  ^  The  names  of 
different  precious  stones  are  of  very  various  origin.  Dia- 
mond is  the  same  word  as  adamant;  it  comes  through  the 
French  and  the  Latin  from  the  Greek  a8aiJia<i  {ddamas), 
'untamed,' --and  was  so  called  from  its  hardness;  L.  do- 
mare  (whence  our  indomitable)  and  English  ta7ne  belong  to 
the  same  root.  Emerald  is  from  the  Greek  (TixdpaySo<i 
{smdi-ae/dos),  through  Latin  and  French.  Sajypldre  has  a 
similar  derivation  ;  but  the  Greeks  must  have  got  it  from 
some  Oriental  people,  for  the  word  is  not  Indo-European 
and  resembles  the  Hebrew  sappir.  Ruhy  is  connected 
with  L.  ruber,  'red.'  Pearl  means  'little  pear'  (Fr.  from 
\j.  jyirum,  'pear').  Jet  is  O.  ¥v.  jet,  from  L.  gagates,  a 
Greek  word  derived  from  Gagas,  the  name  of  a  town  in 
Asia  Minor.  Agate  is  French,  from  Gr.  dxdTr)<i  {achdtes), 
through  Latin.  Jade  is  French  from  Spanish.  In  its 
oldest  form  it  is  connected  with  L.  ilia,  'flanks,'  because 
jade  was  thought  to  cure  side-ache,  in  accordance  with  the 
old  view  that  ascribed  all  kinds  of  mysterious  'virtues'  to 
gems.  Most  of  tliese  gem -names  came,  it  will  be  remarked, 
from  the  East,  and  reached  England  through  Greece,  Rome, 
and  France  successively.  This  correctly  represents  the 
history  of  civilization  in  the  matter  of  gems,  except  in  one 
respect.  We  should  make  a  mistake  if  we  inferred  that 
the  English  owed  their  knowledge  of  such  things  to  the 
French.  Anglo-Saxon  had  names  for  many  gems,  derived 
directly  from  the  Latin  (as  in  the  case  of  the  word  gem 
itself),  but  these  words  went  out  of  use  after  the  Norman 
Conquest,  when  the  persons  who  continued  to  speak 
English  liad  little  occasion  to  talk  of  precious  stones ;  and 

1  See  Slieldou,  iii  Studies  and  Notes  in  I'liilology  and  Literature,  1,  123. 


138  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

the  words  passed  into  the  language  again  later,  through 
the  French. 

Apple  and  berri/  are  native  words  of  unknown  origin, 
though  the  latter  is  perhaps  associated  with  a  root  mean- 
ing '  to  eat.'  Pear  and  plum  were  adapted  from  the  Latin 
pirum  and  prunum  by  Anglo-Saxons  {piru,  plam^.  So 
heet  (A.S.  bete,  from  L.  beta),  —  and  a  good  many  other 
names  of  plants.  Peach  comes  through  the  French  from 
L.  Persicum  {malurn),  '  Persian  apple.'  Grape  is  an  old 
French  word  (Fr.  grappe)  from  an  Old  High  German 
word  for  '  hook,'  and  is  related  to  grab,  grapple,  cramp  ; 
the  French  applied  the  term  to  a  'bunch  of  grapes,'  the 
connection  of  ideas  coming  through  the  relation  between 
'  clutching '  and  '  a  handful.'  Potato  is  the  native  Haytian 
name  slightly  altered  by  the  Spaniards  (Haytian  batata, 
Spanish  patata)  ;  the  word,  like  the  tuber,  was  borrowed 
in  the  sixteenth  century.  The  American  'sweet  potato' 
is  a  plant  of  quite  a  different  family,  but  it  has  the  best 
of  rights  to  its  name,  — -  for  it  was  called  potato  before 
this  name  was  given  to  the  white  tuber  that  is  now 
regarded  as  the  true  potato. 

Parsley  has  had  a  strange  history.  It  is  a  Greek  com- 
pound irerpoaeXivov  (^petroselmo)i'),  '  rock  parsley,'  from 
7r€Tpo<i  ipetros),  'rock'  (whence  the  name  Peter,  —  see 
Matthew  xvi.  18)  and  aeXivov  (selinoti'),  'parsley.'  The 
Romans  borrowed  the  word  as  petroselinum,  and  it  was 
taken  into  Anglo-Saxon  as  peter silie?-  In  French  the 
Latin  word  wore  down  to  persil,  and  this  was  taken  bodily 
into  English  in  the  same  form  persil.  Side  by  side  with 
persil,  however,  the  English  made  a  form  perselg,  which  is 
a  kind  of  compromise  between  the  Anglo-Saxon  and  the 
French,  and  this  form  has  survived  in  our  modern  parsley. 

I'riiis  is  also  the  German  wurd  tor  '  parsley.' 


COMPLEXITY   OF  TUE  ENGLISH    VOCABULARY      139 

Squash  means  one  thing  in  England,  another  in  America, 

—  and  the  two  senses  come  from  languages  as  widely 
separated  as  it  is  possible  for  languages  to  be.  The  Eng- 
lish squash  means  an  '  unripe  peapod  '  (or  '  peascod  '),  and 
is  connected  with  the  verb  squash,  '  to  crush '  ;  the  latter 
probably  coming  (through  the  Old  French  esquachier, 
modern,  ecacher}  from  a  Low  Latin  excoacticare,  from  ex 
and  cogere,  coactum,  'to  drive  together,'  'to  compel.'  The 
American  squash  is  a  kind  of  gourd  (something  like  the 
English  vegetable  marrow),  the  word  coming  from  the 
Massachusetts  Indian  asquash  (plural  of  asq'),  'raw,' 
'green,'  i.e.  'green  vegetables.'  It  is  an  odd  coincidence 
that  two  such  different  languages  as  Latin  and  North 
American  Indian  should  independently  bestow  upon  our 
speech  two  different  words  identical  in  form  and  sound. 
But  every  cultivated  modern  tongue,  being  the  record  of 
a  long  and  complicated  civilization,  is  full  of  such  anoma- 
lies (cf.  p.  360). 

Pea  is  the  result  of  a  common  error.  The  Latin  pisum 
gave  A.S.  |?^^s•(?■,  which  became  pese  in  Middle  English. 
Then  the  -e  disappeared,  leaving  pes  (whence  pease'). 
The  s,  though  really  a  part  of  the  word  itself,  was  taken 
as  the  plural  ending,  and  hence  a  singular  pea  was  made, 

—  as  if  C07-JJ  had  been  made  from  corps(e).^ 

Mint  and  money  are  really  the  same  word.  Both  come 
from  L.  moneta  (which  had  Ijotli  meanings)  from  Juno 
Moneta,  whose  temple  was  the  Roman  mint.  The  surname 
3foneta  is  from  the  verb  monere,  '  t(j  warn'  or  'advise' 
(which  we  have  in  monitor,  adtnonish),  and  has  nothing  to 
do  witli    coining.      The  Anglo-Saxons  borrowed    moneta 

1  Indeed,  this  form  rorp  is  l<no\vu  in  vulgar  English,  and  was  once  in 
good  use.  For  olher  cases  of  a  singular  made  in  this  way  cf.  burial,  and 
see  pp.  lo2-3. 


140  WOBDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

as  mynet  (whence  mint),  and  in  E'rench  the  Latin  word 
became  moneie  (modern  moymaie'),  whence  our  money. 

We  still  have  two  old  phrases  'pay  the  shot''  and  'pay 
the  scot,'  for  '  pay  your  reckoning  (at  a  tavern),'  as  well  as 
scot-free,  literally  '  free  of  expense.'  In  this  use,  shot  is  the 
Anglo-Saxon  scot,  '  a  share,'  connected  with  sccotan  '  to 
shoot'  (A.S.  sc  becoming  sh  in  modern  English);  scot, 
however,  comes  from  O.  Fr.  escot  (modern  ecot),^  itself  a 
loan  word  from  the  Germanic,  so  that  scot  and  shot  are 
really  identical  in  etymology.  Penny  is  Anglo-Saxon, 
but  the  abbreviation  d.  is  the  Latin  denarius.  Farthing 
is  from  fourth  (A.S.  feorthuny  from  feortha).  Shilling 
(A.S.  scilling)  means  perhaps  '  the  clinking  coin  '  (cf.  Ger. 
schellen,  'to  sound,'  'to  ti)dde')  ;  the  abbreviation  s.  is  for 
L.  solidus,  'a  solid  piece  of  money,'  whence  soldier  'a  hired 
fighter.'  Pound  is  the  A.S.  2)r(nd,  from  L.  po7ido,  akin  to 
pondus,  'weight'  (cf.  cmv  ponder,  'to  weigh  a  subject'); 
the  abbreviation  <£  or  l.  is  the  Latin  libra,  '  a  balance,'  '  a 
weight '  (whence  de-liher-ate,  and  level,  the  latter  coming, 
through  the  French,  from  the  diminutive  lihella). 

Dollar  is  fi'om  the  Low  Countries,  —  Low  German 
dahler,  whither  it  came  from  Ger.  Thaler,  short  for 
Joaehims-thaler,  since  dollars  were  first  coined  in  the  Tlial 
('valley,'  cognate  with  English  dale)  of  St.  Joachim  in 
Bokemia,  in  the  sixteenth  century.  The  word  dollar  was 
commonly  applied  to  a  Spanish  silver  coin  at  the  time 
when  our  American  monetary  standards  were  devised. 
Spanish  dollars  were  well  known  in  this  country.  Cent 
was  borrowed  directly  from  \j.  centum  at  the  same  time, 
though  the  word  already  existed  in  English  in  per  cent ; 
and  TwzVZ  was  similarly  taken  from  L.  millc,  'a  thousand/ 
The  clipped  forms  ce^it  and  mill  are  due  to  French  intlu- 

1  Or  perhaps  from  Old  Norse  skot,  really  the  same  word. 


COMPLEXITY   OF  THE  ENGLISH    VOCABULABY      141 

ence,^  but  our  American  ancestors  certainly  had  the  Latin 
words  in  mind. 

Florin  is  from  Florence,  where  these  coins  were  first 
struck.  Croivn,  louis,  7iapoleon.,  sovereign,  guinea  are  spe- 
cialized senses  or  nicknames.  The  last-mentioned  comes 
from  the  fact  that  the  first  guineas  were  coined  from 
Guinea  gold.  Such  nicknames  are  originally  slang,  like 
hob  or  tanner  for  'shilling,'  tenner  for  Hen-pound  note,' 
F  for  'five-dollar  bill,'  cart-ivheel  for  'silver  dollar.'  Note 
itself,  in  this  sense,  is  short  for  bank  note,  like  hill  for  hank 
bill.  Holy  dollar  is  an  old  punning  Australian  term  for  a 
Spanish  or  American  dollar  from  which  a  circular  piece 
had  been  cut ;  such  coins  passed  in  Australia  when  cur- 
rency was  scanty.  Compare  slug,  for  a  stamped  lump  of 
gold  in  California;  dump,  for  a  similar  thing  in  Australia. 
Currency  itself  is  an  abstract  noun  used  collectively  for 
current  money. 

A  necromancer  learns  the  future  by  calling  up  the 
spirits  of  the  dead  (Gr.  v€Kp6<i,  nekros,  'dead  body,'  and 
liavreia,  manteia,  'divination').  Magic  is  the  art  of  the 
Persian  Magi,  a  class  of  wizard-priests.  Wizard  is  properly 
a 'wise  man'  (Milton  calls  the  Three  Magi  'the  star-led 
wizards');  it  is  wise  with  the  suffix  -ard  or  -art^  (as  in 
drunkard,  coivard,  sluggard,  braggart^.  Witch  (originally 
of  common  gender)  seems  also  to  mean  'a  wise  man,'  and 
to  be  connected  with  the  root  seen  in  ^vit,  'knowledge.' 
Sortilege  is  divination  by  drawing  lots,  once  regarded  as 
a  mysterious  process  controlled  by  the  higher  powers 
(Fr.   sortilege,   from   L.   sors,   sortis,   'lot,'   and  legere,  'to 

1  French  cetU,  mille. 

-  The  suffix  -ard,  -art,  came  into  English  from  the  Frencli,  but  is  of 
Germanic  origin,  and  once  meant  'bold,'  'hardy.'  It  is  the  same  as  the 
English  adjective  hard,  and  appears  in  various  proper  names,  as  Eeriinhanl. 


142  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

choose').  Soothsayer  is  a  'truth  teller'  (sooth,  'true,' 
'  truth ').  Jngijler  is  L.  joculator,  '  jester,'  ' player  of  tricks.' 
Exorcist  is  a  (jreek  word  meaning  '  one  who  lays  a  spell 
upon'  evil  spirits,  and  so  bans  them  (from  e|,  ex,  and 
opKi^av,  horkizein,  'to  conjure  or  lay  a  spell  upon,'  from 
6pK0<;,  hdrkos,  'oath').  Conjurer  is  a  similar  Avord  from 
the  Latin  coti-  (intensive)  and^wro,  'to  swear';  to  conjure 
is  properly  to  pronounce  the  name  of  a  god  in  such  a  way 
as  to  gain  his  assistance. 

Prophet  means  'spokesman,'  that  is, '  one  who  speaks  for 
a  divinity,'  '  the  interpreter  of  his  will '  (Gr.  7r/3o</)r;T7;?, 
prophetes,  L.  propheta,  from  Gr.  ttjoo,  p)r6-,  'for,'  and  (fidvai, 
phdnaU  'to  speak');  since  pr6  also  means  'before,'  the 
usual  modern  sense  is  easily  intelligible.  A  seer  is  '  one 
who  sees.'  Druid  is  a  Celtic  word  for  a  kind  of  priest. 
The  druids  practised  magic,  and  the  Anglo-Saxons  took 
the  word  in  the  form  dry,  in  the  sense  of  '  enchanter.'  An 
enchanter  is  one  who  sings  chants  or  charms  (^incantations^, 
Fr.  enchanter,  from  L.  in-cantare  (from  cantus,  'song,' 
whence  chant).  To  augur  is  to  interpret  the  omens  given 
by  the  flight  of  birds,  as  the  Roman  aug^ires  (perhaps  from 
avis,  'bird ')  did. 

Town  is  a  very  concrete  word  in  its  origin.  It  is  native 
Germanic  (A.S.  tUn)  ;^  it  means,  literally,  an  'enclosure,' 
or  'fenced  place,'  and  points  to  the  stockaded  settle- 
ments of  a  time  long  before  the  Angles  and  Saxons  saw 
Britain.  The  cognate  Ger.  Za^m  has  kept  the  older  sense 
of  'hedge.'  City,  on  the  other  hand,  is  abstract.  It  is 
the  French  cite  from  L.  civitas.  Civitas  meant  originally 
'citizenship'  (being  the  abstract  from  civis,  'citizen'),  but 
was  easily  transferred  to  the  citizens  in  their  collective 
capacity ;  and  so  came,  at  last,  to  be  a  mere  synonym  of 

^  Cognate  with  the  Celtic  dtin,  '  fortress,'  seen  in  Lugdumim,  '  Lyons.' 


COMPLEXITY  OF  THE  ENGLISH   VOCABULARY      143 

urbs,  'city.'  In  its  origin,  then,  citi/  suggests  the  'body 
politic,'  whereas  tow7i  suggests  merely  the  actual  place, 
the  fenced  stronghold  ;  and  some  traces  of  this  old  distinc- 
tion liave  persisted  to  modern  times,  though  the  words 
have  received  new  conventional  senses,  different  in  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  English-speaking  world.  Village  is 
French,  from  L.  villaticus,  ' belonging  to  a  country-house'^ 
(cf.  Milton's  'tame  villatic  fowl,'  in  Samson  Agonistes), 
and  suggests  the  manor-house  with  its  adjoining  cluster 
of  cottages.  Hamlet  is  a  double  diminutive.  We  derive 
it  from  O.  Fr.  hamelet,  a  diminutive  of  hamel  (modern 
liameau),  which  is  itself  a  diminutive  of  W.  Ger.  Iiaim 
(A.S.  lidrn^  Eng.  home,  Ger.  Ileim).  Thus  hamlet  is 
closely  related  to  our  home,  though  it  has  reached  us 
through  the  French,  and  has  not  descended,  like  home, 
from  Anglo-Saxon.  Home  (A.S,  ham')  is  a  general  Indo- 
European  word  for  'abiding-place,'  'dwelling.'  In  the 
oldest  English  it  was  purely  descriptive,  and  apparently 
as  destitute  of  tender  or  sentimental  associations  as  toivn 
or  city  with  us.  As  early  as  the  sixteenth  century  we 
meet  with  the  proverb  '  Home's  homely,'  that  is,  '  Home 
is  homelike,  or  comfortable,'  and  since  that  time  the 
growth  of  the  modern  connotations  has  been  rapid. 
John  Howard  Payne's  famous  song,  '  Sweet  Home,'  ex- 
pressed in  simple  language  the  feelings  that  had  become 
vaguely  connected  with  the  word.  In  itself,  the  song 
could  not  have  produced  the  sentiments  which  we  feel  in 
the  word  home.  Yet,  since  it  fell  in  with  the  popular 
sentiment,  and  was  easy  to  sing  and  pleasant  to  hear,  it 
became  almost   immediately   the   common    expression    of 

1  The  modern  English  word  villa  is  a  direct  borrowing  from  tlie  Italian, 
which  had  preserved  the  word  from  the  Roman  times  without  change  of 
form.     See  pj).  321-2. 


144  WORDS  AND   TUEIR    WAYS 

those  sentiments  for  all  English-speaking  persons,  and  thus 
intensified  a  hundred  fold  the  tender  connotations  which 
it  aimed  merely  to  express.  In  this  way,  home,  at  first  a 
mere  concrete  terra,  has  become  an  abstract  expression  for 
all  that  is  best  in  family  life.  There  is  at  present  a  ten- 
dency to  overuse  the  word  (at  least  in  this  country)  as 
little  more  than  a  softer  synonym  for  'house'  or  'place 
where  one  lives.'  The  result  of  this  process  would  finally 
be  to  strip  the  word  of  all  its  associations,  and  reduce  it 
once  more  to  the  position  of  a  colorless  descriptive  term.^ 
Conservatism,  and  the  inevitable  revolt  against  overdone 
sentimentality,  may  be  strong  enough  to  save  the  word. 
County  is  properly  the  domain  of  a  count  or  earl.  Count 
is  P'rench  (O.  Fr.  counte,  modern  comte),  from  L.  comes, 
'companion'  (member  of  the  imperial  court).  The  influ- 
ence of  French  on  our  language  was  sufficient  to  bring  in 
countess  and  county,  but  count  is  still  a  foreign  title.  The 
English  word  is  earl.  The  history  of  this  word  is  almost 
the  history  of  England.  In  A.S.  eorl  simply  meant  a 
'  nobleman,'  a  person  of  higher  rank  than  an  ordinary 
freeman.  Among  the  Danes,  the  kindred  word  jarl  was 
applied  to  a  special  class  of  noblemen  of  very  high  rank, 
who  often  exercised  viceregal  sway  over  particular  dis- 
tricts, the  same  class  that  were  called  alderme^i  (ealdo7'- 
menn^  in  Anglo-Saxon.  When  Cnut,  the  Dane,  became  king 
of  England,  jarl  was  of  course  used  by  the  Danisli  nobles 
in  England,  and  the  corresponding  English  word  eorl  soon 
took  on  this  special  sense.  The  Normans  found  it  in  use, 
and  it  was  recognized  as  equivalent  to  their  term  count. 

1  This  is  a  natural  tendency  of  all  language,  and  must  not  be  regarded 
as  anything  specially  objectionable  or  noteworthy  in  itself.  In  the  case 
of  this  particular  word,  it  seems  a  pity:  that  is  all.  Tlierc  is  nothing 
abnormal  or  uruisual  about  the  process, 


COMPLEXITY   OF  THE  ENGLISH    VOCABULARY      145 

Thereafter,  couut  was  used  by  French-speaking  English- 
men, and  earl  by  those  who  spoke  the  vernacular ;  but 
though  count  entered  our  language,  it  never  displaced  earl 
as  the  legal  and  popular  English  term.  Countess,  how- 
ever, for  '  earl's  wife,'  came  in  almost  immediately,  and  is 
one  of  the  oldest  French  words  in  our  language.  It 
occurs  in  the  Peterborough  continuation  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  Chronicle  under  the  year  1140,  and  was  certainly 
in  use  considerably  earlier.  Uarl  continued  to  be  the 
highest  rank  in  the  English  peerage  until  the  fourteenth 
century,  when  the  French  titles  of  duke  and  marquess 
were  bestowed  on  certain  members  of  the  royal  family. 
These  titles  were  later  extended  beyond  their  royal  limits, 
and  thus  grew  up  the  present  system.  Earl  has  now  no  ter- 
ritorial significance,  but  is  a  mere  title  of  rank,  inferior  to 
that  of  duke  and  marquess.  The  old  name  of  alderman 
did  not  go  out  of  use  when  earl  was  substituted  for  it. 
It  ceased  to  be  a  title  of  nobility,  but  was  applied  to  the 
head  of  a  guild  or  trade-company.  Towns  were  governed 
by  the  heads  of  guilds,  and  hence  alderman  easily  passed 
into  its  present  civic  meanings  with  the  development  of 
municipal  government  in  England  and  America.  Thus 
the  complete  history  of  the  single  word  earl  involves  the 
Anglo-Saxon,  the  Danish,  and  the  Norman  Conquest,  the 
amalgamation  of  the  different  races  into  the  present  Eng- 
lish nation,  the  growth  of  the  social  system  of  Great 
Britain,  and  the  development  of  municipal  government 
on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 

But  this  is  not  all.  The  etymology  of  earl  is  uncertain 
(perhaps  it  meant  in  the  first  place  merely  "-man').  But 
alderman  is  derived  from  aldor,  'chief,'  literally  an  'elder,' 
and  so  conducts  us  back  to  very  primitive  times,  when 
the  community  w%as  a  family,  and  the  head  of  the  clan  was 


146  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

tlie  father  or  patriarch.  We  have  before  us,  then,  not 
merely  the  history  of  England,  but  the  history  of  govern- 
ment itself.  The  vicissitudes  of  a  word  like  alderman^ 
which  once  meant  'viceroy,'  and  now  means  a  'city  official,' 
are  curious  enough ;  but  the  interest  in  them  is  far  from 
that  of  mere  curiosity. 


CHAPTER   XI 

UNITY   OF   THE    ENGLISH   VOCxiBULARY 

The  assimilating  power  of  the  English  language  is  not 
less  remarkable  than  the  complexity  of  its  sources.  Our 
commonest  words,  as  we  have  just  seen,  come  from  every 
corner  of  the  world,  and  have  been  subjected  to  almost 
every  conceivable  process  in  form  and  meaning.  Yet  the 
lansruagfe  is  consistent  with  itself,  and  has  its  distinctive 
character.  A  priori,  one  might  expect  that  a  tongue  like 
our  own  would  be  like  the  learned  jargon  of  Hudibras :  — 

Buft  when  he  pleased  to  show't,  his  speech 

lu  loftiness  of  sound  was  rich ; 

A  Babylonish  dialect, 

Which  learned  pedants  much  affect. 

It  was  a  parti-colored  dress 

Of  patched  and  piebald  languages ; 

'Twas  English  cut  on  Greek  and  Latin, 

Like  fustian  heretofore  on  satin ; 

It  had  an  odd,  promiscuous  tone 

As  if  h'  had  talked  three  parts  in  one ; 

AVhich  made  some  think,  when  he  did  gabble, 

Th'  had  heard  three  laborers  of  Babel ; 

Or  Cerberus  himself  pronounce 

A  leash  of  languages  at  once. 

In  fact,  however,  English  produces  no  such  effect.  Our 
SpraehgefvJil.,  the  'genius  of  the  language,'  or  wliatever 
one  may  call  the  great  conservative  force  which  we  have 
already   considered,  has  not  only  kept  English   true   to 

147 


4 


148  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

itself  through  long  periods  of  time,  hut  revolts  instantly 
against  any  neologism  that  does  not  accord  with  our 
idiom.  English  is  full  of  French  words,  but  it  is  none  the 
less  Eno-lish.  Transfer  a  French  sentence^  into  Ensflish 
words,  llffi-allf/,  without  regard  to  our  idiom,  and  the 
vigor  with  which  our  language  resents  a  Gallicism  is  evi- 
dent at  once ;  and  the  argument  is  clinched  by  the 
admitted  impossibility  of  translating  Macbeth  or  Hamlet 
into  the  language  of  Racine, 

The  diverse  sources  of  English  have  been  abundantly 
exemplified  in  the  preceding  chapter  by  the  citation  of 
groups  of  words  for  common  things  or  familiar  ideas. 
The  harmony  with  which  these  diverse  elements  combine 
to  make  a  consistent  language  may  best  be  seen  by  exam- 
ining the  words  that  make  up  a  particular  passage  of 
connected  discourse. 

Let  us  take,  then,  the  following  Inief  paragraph  of  recent 
narrative  prose :  — 

The  negro  pilot  was  naturally  of  a  gloomy  and  savage  expression 
of  countenance,  and  at  these  unwelcome  tidings  his  forbidding  fea- 
tures were  so  hideously  distorted  with  anger  and  terror  that  he  looked 
more  like  a  demon  than  a  man  of  this  world.  Springing  to  his  feet, 
he  tore  his  cap  from  his  head  with  a  spasmodic  twitch  that  half 
detached  the  glazed  visor,  threw  off  his  tattered  pea-jacket,  seized  a 
harpoon,  and  rushed  toward  the  companion-way.  The  captain,  poor, 
peevish  martinet,  was  at  his  wit's  end.  How  should  he  exorcise  the 
roaring  devil  that  his  own  cairtankerous  folly  had  raised? 

This  is  somewhat  wordy,  but  not  unusually  so,  and  no 
one  will  challenge  any  of  its  words  as  'un-English.'     It 

1  This  favorite  trick  of  schoolboys  and  other  humorists  has,  then,  a  real 
scientific  value,  though  it  does  not  prove  that  French  is  inferior  to  English 
as  a  medium  of  intellectual  expression.  The  classic  example  of  the  joke 
is  Mark  Twain's  Jumping  Frog,  which  has  amused  two  continents. 


UNITY   OF  THE  ENGLISH   VOCABULARY  149 

produces,  on  the  whole,  a  consistent  stylistic  effect,  though 
peevish  and  cantankerous  might  be  objected  to  as  affectedly 
simple  or  colloquial.  At  all  events,  it  is  by  no  means  a 
Babylonish  dialect ;  it  does  not  suggest  '  a  leash  of  lan- 
guages at  once.'  Yet  a  study  of  its  components  reveals  a 
bewildering  diversity  of  tongues,  nations,  dates,  profes- 
sions, and  linguistic  processes. 

Negro  is  a  Spanish  (or  Portuguese)  form,  from  the 
Latin  niger^  '  black. '^ 

Pilot  comes  immediately  from  Fr.  pilote^  but  this  appears 
to  be  merely  the  Dutch  peillood,  —  ivoni  ^eil,  'measure,' 
and  lood,  'lead.' 

Gloomy  belongs  to  a  puzzling  group  of  words  in  which 
the  ideas  of  light  and  darkness  seem  inextricably  mingled. 
The  Anglo-Saxon  glom,  '  twilight,'  is  from  the  same  root  as 
gloiv ;  and  there  is  a  word  glome,  gloom,  recorded  from  the 
sixteenth  to  the  eighteenth  century,  which  means  'heat.' 
From  A.S.  glom  comes  gloaming,  a  Scottish  and  North  of 
England  word,  recently  introduced  into  English  litera- 
ture, like  so  many  other  dialect  words. ^  Our  ordinary 
noun  gloom,  however,  is  first  recorded  in  the  sense  of  a 
'frown,'  or  'scowl,'  and  the  verb  to  gloom,  for  'to  frown,' 
seems  to  be  older  than  this  noun.  It  is  hard  to  separate 
this  from  glom,  '  twilight,'  but  there  are  phonetic  difii- 
culties  in  the  way. 

Naturally  is  a  Latin  Avord  with  an  English  suffix. 

Savage  is  French,  from  L.  silvaticus,  'living  in  the  woods ' 
(^silva,  whence  sylvan  and  the  proper  name  Sylvanus).  The 
form  salvages,  which  occurs  so  often  in  the  early  history  of 
America,  looks  like  the  Old  French  salvage  (modern 
sauvage'),  but  the  I  is  more  likely  to  be  a  learned  insertion 
under  Latin  influence.     Of  course  this  has  nothing  to  do 

^  See  p.  35G.  2  Croon,  for  example  (see  p.  58). 


150  WOliDS  AND    TUEIE    WAYS 

with  the  maritime  salvage^  which  comes  (also  through  the 
French)  from  L.  salvo^  'save.' 

Expression  is  a  Latin  word  meaning,  literally,  'the  act 
of  pressing  out,'  or  'modelling.'  'Moulding'  is  extended 
to  '  representation '  in  general,  and  hence  come  all  our 
figurative  meanings. 

Countenance  once  meant  '  one's  bearing,'  '  demeanor,' 
and  the  like,  —  literally,  the  way  in  which  a  person  '  holds 
himself  together '  (L.  continentia,  from  eon-  and  teneo'). 
So  Chaucer  is  described  by  the  Host  of  the  Tabard  Inn  as 
'seeming  elvish  by  liis  countenance,'  that  is,  'shy  (like  an 
elf  among  men),  to  judge  by  his  bearing'  (since  he  does 
not  chat  with  the  other  pilgrims). ^  From  'bearing,'  in 
general,  the  word  was  specialized  to  the  bearing  or  expres- 
sion of  the  face,  and  in  Modern  English  is  used  concretely 
for  the  face  itself.  So  gestiwe^  which  once  meant  one's 
'bearing'  in  general  (from  gero,  'carry'),  has  been  limited 
to  expressive  motions  with  the  hands,  and  so  on.  Conti- 
nence is  a  direct  borrowing  from  L.  continentia,  and  has  a 
special  sense. 

Umcelcoyne  is  a  native  word  remade  under  foreign  intiu- 
ences.  Anglo-Saxon  has  wil-cuma,  'a  j)leasure-comer,'  that 
is,  one  whose  coming  accords  with  one's  will  or  wish.  Later 
this  was  corrupted  to  ivel-come^  which  has  an  obvious 
sense.  The  French  hien  venu  is  partly  responsible  for  this 
change. 

Tidings  is  apparently  formed  from  the  verb  to  tide  (A.S. 
tidan,  '  to  happen ')  under  the  influence  of  the  Scandinavian 
tlthinde,  'happenings,'  which  was  of  kindred  origin.     The 

^  The  passage  is  commonly  misunderstood,  as  if  couiUcnance  liad  the 
modern  meaning.  Tims  one  of  Chaucer's  editors  describes  him  as  having 
'  a  weird  expression  of  countenance,'  which  is  amusing  in  itself  and  does 
not  accord  with  his  portrait. 


UNITY  OF  THE  ENGLISH   VOCABULARY  151 

connection  between  'occurrences'  and  'news'  is  obvious 
enough, 

.  Forbid  is  a  native  verb.  Tlie  prefix  /or-  has  a  negative 
sense  like  the  German  ver-,  to  which  it  is  rehited.  The 
two  senses  of  bid,  'order'  and  'offer'  (as  in  bidding  at  an 
auction)  are  due  to  confusion  (which  began  in  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  period)  between  beodan,  'offer,'  and  biddan,  'pray' 
(Ger.  bieten  and  hittcn).  Compare  the  more  modern  (and 
therefore  '  vulgar ')  confusions  between  lie  and  lay,  sit 
and  set.  '  To  bid  one's  beads '  preserves  the  old  sense  of 
biddan.  Bead  is  properly  'prayer,'  and  has  acquired  its 
modern  sense  from  the  custom  of  counting  one's  prayers 
on  the  rosary. 

Feature  is  literally  one's  '  make '  (French,  from  L.  fac- 
tura').  In  Shakspere's  time  it  often  meant  one's  'form' 
or  '  figure ' ;  but  it  is  now  specialized  to  the  parts  which 
make  up  the  face.  Compare  the  somewhat  similar  lot  of 
countenance. 

Hideous  we  get  from  the  French.  Its  older  history  is 
very  uncertain.  It  is  usually  referred  to  L.  Jiispidosus, 
from  hispidus,  'bristly.'  An  Old  High  German  deriva- 
tion has  also  been  suggested  :  egidl,  '  horror,'  related  to 
our  word  awe.  The  Germanic  conquerors  of  the  Gallic 
provinces  contributed  many  words  to  French. 

Bistort  is  simply  '  twist  out  of  shape,'  —  L.  torqueo,  tortus, 
'  twist,'  whence,  in  different  ways,  our  tortuous,  torture,  and 
the  law  term  tort. 

Anger  and  terror  are  equally  good  English  now,  but 
the  former  is  the  Old  Norse  angr  and  the  latter  the  Latin 
terror,  both  taken  into  our  language  bodily. 

Look  is  a  native  verb.  Its  use  in  the  sense  of  '  appear ' 
illustrates  the  process  of  transference  which  will  be  dis- 
cussed in  Chapter  XIX. 


152  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

Demon  is  a  Greek  word  for  'a  divinity.'  Its  change  in 
sense  is  due  to  Christianity.  The  fathers  of  the  Church 
did  not  deny  the  existence  of  the  heatlien  gods ;  they 
regarded  them  as  evil  spirits  that  had  long  deceived 
mankind.  This  view  is  familiar  to  all  through  Paradise 
Lost. 

World  is  interesting  as  a  compound  that  has  become  so 
reduced  as  to  seem  like  a  perfectly  simple  word.  It  was 
once  weorold,  from  wer,  *  man '  (as  in  ivere-ivolf),  and  an 
old  noun  meaning  'age'  (related  to  our  adjective  old). 
Thus  it  meant  '  the  age  of  man,'  and  easily  passed  into  the 
sense  of  'mankind.'  Similarly  we  use  the  age  and  the 
times  for  'the  people  of  the  age '  (cf.  L.  saeculum^. 

Cap  is  a  very  old  (Anglo-Saxon)  borrowing  from  the 
Low  Latin  cappa^  capa.  This  cappa  has  been  appropriated 
by  our  language  over  and  over  again.  Cappa  has  given 
us  cap  (A.S.  cceppe^  ;  the  other  form,  capa.,  has  given  us 
cope.  From  cappa  comes  the  Frencli  cliape,  which  we 
have  borrowed  in  the  sense  of  'the  metal  tip  of  a  sheath,' 
and  also  (later)  the  French  cape  (through  Spanish  or 
Italian),  which  gives  us  cape.  From  the  Latin  diminutive 
eappella  comes  (through  the  Frencli)  our  cliapel.  The 
change  of  meaning  is  curious,  but  has  been  traced.  St. 
Martin's  cloak  {cappelUi)  was  preserved  by  the  Frank- 
ish  kings  as  a  most  sacred  relic ;  and  the  name  cliapel 
came  to  be  applied  to  other  sanctuaries  besides  that  in 
which  this  eappella  was  kept.  From  this  to  'the  singers 
in  a  choir'  was  an  easy  step  (cf.  clioir  itself),  and  hence 
we  have  Kapelle  in  German  particularly  applied  to  a  'mili- 
tary band.'  The  interest  that  one  feels  in  this  remarkable 
word  capa  is  not  a  little  enhanced  by  an  additional  circum- 
stance. It  first  turns  up  in  Spain,  and,  since  it  is  certainly 
not  of  Latin  origin,  it  has  been  thought  to  be  really  an 


UNITY   OF   THE  ENGLISH    VOCABULARY  153 

Iberian  word,  —  one  of  the  scanty  remnants  of  the  langnage 
of  the  native  Spanish  tribes  whom  the  Romans  subdued. 
Other  English  words  that  come  from  the  same  source  are 
chaplain;  chaplet,  'agarhxnd';  ehapelet,  'a  pair  of  stir- 
rups,' 'a  kind  of  pump' ;  chaperon,  literally  'a  hood.' 

Spasmodic  and  twitch  repeat  the  same  idea,  for  spasm 
is  merely  the  Greek  word  for  'twitching  '  or  '  convulsion.' 
It  affords  a  good  instance  of  a  learned  medical  word  that 
has  become  popular  (see  pp.  30-3).  Spa7i  is  thought  to 
be  from  the  same  Indo-European  root,  and  also  spin  and 
space. 

Detach  is  French.  The  second  syllable  is  the  same  as 
that  seen  in  attach,  attack,  and  tack,  'a  small  nail.'  This 
tack  is  probably  Celtic.  If  so,  we  have  here  a  curious 
parallel  to  the  relations  in  the  case  of  caj?.  Attach  is  an- 
other good  instance  of  the  transfer  of  a  technical  word  to 
general  uses,  —  this  time  a  legal  word. 

Glaze  is  from  c/Iass  (A.S.  glees'),  perhaps  connected  (like 
gloom)  with  the  root  seen  in  gloiv. 

Visor  is  Fr.  visiere,  from  vis,  'face.'  It  leads  us  back  to 
the  days  of  chivalry,  when  the  word  was  applied  to  a 
movable  part  of  the  helmet.  Vis  is  of  course  from  L.  video, 
visus.  The  termination  -or  for  -er  shows  the  Latinizing 
influence,  as  in  the  spelling  bettor  for  better  ('one  who 
bets'). 

Throiv  has  a  remarkable  history,  which  will  be  given  in 
a  later  chapter  (see  pp.  242-4). 

Tatter  is  Scandinavian,  and  is  more  or  less  remotely  re- 
lated to  tetter,  dander.,  dandruff,  tear,  tar,  tree,  trough,  tart, 
and  a  number  of  other  words.  The  general  sense  of  the 
root  is  'to  split.' 

Pea-jacket  seems  to  be  both  a  hybrid  and  a  tautological 
compound,  for  the  Dutch  pij  is  a  kind  of  coat.     Jacket  is 


154  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

Fr.  jaquette,  and  is  a  diminutive  of  jack  (Fr.  jaqiie'),  'a 
leather  coat.'  This  seems  to  be  soldiers'  slang,  for  there 
is  little  doubt  that  it  is  a  jocose  application  of  the  proper 
name  Jacques  (cf.  pp.  386-7). 

Seize  is  a  word  which  has  increased  in  intensity  of 
meaning.  Its  earliest  meaning  is  to  '  set '  or  '  put  in  pos- 
session of,'  and  this  is  still  seen  in  the  law-phrase  seized  of 
for  'possessed  of  (cf.  'livery  of  seisin''^.  The  word  is 
of  Germanic  origin  (related  to  set),  but  we  took  it  from 
the  French. 

Harpoon  (formerly  liarpon^  is  French  (Jiarpon)  from 
liarpe,  '  dog's  claw,'  '  clamp,'  which  is  derived,  through  the 
Latin  from  Gr.  apirr)  {Jidrpe),  'hook,'  'clutch.'  The  Greek 
Harpies  are  the  'Snatchers.'  It  is  possible,  however,  that 
the  Germanic  harp,  '  a  musical  instrument,'  is  the  source 
of  the  French  Jiarpe,  —  the  curve  of  the  harp  suggesting 
a  hook. 

Hush  is  Teutonic  and  has  many  relatives,  all  implying 
either  haste  or  noise.  Toivard  is  an  adjective  in  Anglo- 
Saxon  (toweard),  meaning  'coming,'  'impending,'  and 
this  sense  lasted  till  Shakspere's  time  (cf.  untoward  and 
froivard).  It  is  a  compound  of  to  and  an  old  Germanic 
word  akin  to  L.  verto,  'turn.' 

Companion-ivay  is  a  hybrid  compound,  tvay  being  a 
native  and  companion  a  borrowed  word.  The  latter  has 
a  diversified  history.  In  its  ordinary  sense  of  '  associate,' 
it  is  the  French  compagnon,  from  a  late  Latin  term  signify- 
ing 'bread-sharer'  (com-,  and  panis,  'bread').  As  a 
nautical  term,  however,  it  is  a  corruption  (under  the 
influence  of  the  ordinary  word)  of  the  French  chamhre 
a  la  compagne  (or  the  Italian  camera  della  compagna')^ 
which  meant  the  'pantry'  or  'storeroom'  on  a  ship's  deck. 
Perhaps  the    English    word    passed   through   the    Dutch 


UNITY   OF   THE  ENGLISH    VOCABULARY  155 

language  {kompanje')^  whence  so  many  sailors'  terms  have 
come.  This  compagua,  'provisions,'  is  of  the  same  origin 
as  the  word  for  'associate.' 

CajJtain  is  French,  from  Late  L.  cajntaneus  (from 
caputs  'head').  An  older  French  form  from  the  same  is 
clievetain,  which  gives  us  chieftain. 

Poor  is  Fr.  pauvre  (older  povre)^  from  L.  pauper.  The 
generalizing  of  the  sense  from  '  indigent '  to  '  unfortunate  ' 
or  '  contemptible '  is  interesting.  Observe  that  we  have 
also  borrowed  the  word  pauper,  and  have  given  it  a 
technical  sense,  stronger  than  that  which  it  bore  in  Latin. 

Peevish  is  of  unknown  etymology.  It  is  perhaps  an 
imitative  word,  suggesting  the  fretful  whining  of  an 
infant.  At  all  events,  it  once  meant  '  childish,'  and  is 
still  particularly  applicable  to  fretful  children  or  to  those 
who  resemble  them.  The  inevitable  union  of  both  senses, 
'  childish  '  and  '  fretful,'  in  such  a  passage  as  the  following, 
goes  far  to  establish  the  onomatopoetic  character  of  the 
word  :  — 

As  I  remember,  Henry  the  Sixtli 

Did  prophesy  that  Richmond  should  be  king. 

When  Richmond  was  a  little  peevish  boy. 

Richard  III,  iv,  2,  98-100. 

Martinet  is  an  example  of  a  proper  name  which  has 
become  a  common  noun  (like  '  a  Solon,'  '  a  Solomon,'  '  a 
Daniel  come  to  judgment ').i  Martinet  was  a  French 
officer  in  the  time  of  Louis  XIV,  and  introduced  new 
regulations  into  the  infantry  service. 

'  See  pp.  372  ff.  This  is  the  accepted  etymology,  but  the  history  of  the 
word  needs  investigation.  It  was  slang  in  tlie  latter  part  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  but  passed  into  the  legitimate  vocabulary  in  the  first  quarter  of 
the  nineteenth.  Martinet  has  no  such  sense  in  French,  but  does  mean, 
among  other  things,  a  'cat-o'-ninc-tails.' 


156  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

Wit  is  [)reserved  in  this  phrase  in  its  old  sense  of 
'  wisdom  '  or  '  knowledge.'  The  word  belongs  to  an 
extremely  productive  Indo-European  root  meaning  '  to 
see,'  found  in  the  Latin  video  (whence,  in  various  ways, 
come  vision,  revise,  invidious,  envy,  vie,  visage,  visor,  etc.) 
and  in  the  Greek  ihelv  (idein,  whence  idea,  idol},  as  well 
as  in  our  wise,  to  zvit  (ivot,  tvist},  tivit,  etc.  The  develop- 
ment of  meaning  in  the  English  noun  is  worth  notice. 
Compare  'a  knowing  fellow,'  '  to  live  by  one's  wits,'  and 
similar  phrases. 

Exorcise  came  into  our  language  during  the  '  learned 
times'  described  in  Chapter  VIII.  Its  first  occurrence  is 
in  the  sixteenth  century.  We  need  have  no  hesitation, 
then,  in  refusing  to  derive  it  directly  from  the  French 
verb  exorciser.  It  was  certainly  adapted  from  the  Greek 
i^opKt^o)  (exorkizo),  '  to  put  under  oath,'  or  '  to  put  under 
the  ban,'  witli  a  side  influence  from  the  borrowed  Latin 
verb  exorcizo,  which  was  a  theological  word  for  'laying'  evil 
spirits  (see  p.  142).  It  was,  then,  technical  in  its  origin, 
but  is  now  less  so,  though  it  has  never  become  a  popular 
word. 

Hoar  and  raise  are  native  words,  and  require  no  special 
comment  in  this  place. 

Devil  is  the  Greek  hcd/3o\o<i  (^didbolos),  '  slanderer,' 
'traducer.'  This  word  was  used  as  a  Greek  equivalent  of 
tlie  Hebrew  Satan  ('the  adversary'),  who  was  the  accuser 
or  slanderer  of  the  just,  as  in  the  first  chapter  of  Job. 
lloman  Christianity  took  the  Greek  word  into  Latin  as 
diabolus,  and  it  has  also  passed  into  tlie  Germanic  tongues. 
These  must  have  borrowed  it  very  early.  The  East  Ger- 
manic Goths  had  the  word  in  the  fourth  century,  adopt- 
ing it  directly  from  the  Greek.  The  Christianity  of  the 
West  Germanic  tribes  was  Roman,  not  Greek ;    yet  the 


UNITY  OF   THE   ENGLISH    VOCABULARY  157 

behavior  of  this  word  in  their  dialects  suggests  that  devil 
may  have  been  passed  along  from  the  Christian  Goths  to 
the  pagan  High  Germans,  and  so  westward  to  the  Angles 
and  Saxons  in  their  continental  home.  There  is  nothing 
improbable  in  this  theory,  in  view  of  church,  which  had  a 
similar  history.^  The  name  of  a  god  or  an  evil  spirit 
readily  travels  from  tribe  to  tribe,  even  when  religions  are 
at  variance.  At  all  events,  the  Anglo-Saxons  had  the 
Greek  (or  Latin)  word  devil  as  well  as  the  Greek  word 
church  before  they  went  to  Britain,  and  long  before  they 
were  converted  to  Christianity. 

We  have  found,  in  one  short  English  passage,  besides 
the  native  element,  no  less  than  a  dozen  languages 
represented, —  Greek,  Latin,  French,  Spanish  (or  Portu- 
guese), Dutch,  Old  Norse,  the  Celtic  of  Gaul,  the  Iberian 
of  the  Spanish  aborigines,  and  possibly  Gothic  and  Old 
High  German.  The  borrowings  have  taken  place  at  all 
periods,  —  before  the  Anglo-Saxon  Conquest,  during  the 
Anglo-Saxon  period,  between  the  Norman  Conquest  and 
Chaucer,  in  the  learned  times  of  the  sixteenth  century,  in 
recent  days.  We  have  Latin  words  that  have  come 
through  the  French,  others  that  have  come  from  the  Latin 
but  have  been  affected  by  French  fashions,  and  one  that 
has  entered  the  language  bodily,  without  the  change  of  a 
letter. 

The  technical  dialects  of  law,  medicine,  and  theolog}^ 
are  all  represented  in  words  that  have  passed  from  their 
special  vocabularies  into  the  general  stock.  Slang,  chiv- 
alry, and  seamanship  have  contributed  their  quotas.  The 
whole  history  of  European  Christianity  is  involved  in  the 
passage.     Its  conflict  with  classical  paganism  is  suggested 

'A.S.  cirice.,  circc,  from  Gr.  KvpLaKbv.  'the  Lord's  (house).' 


158  Tr07?D.S   AXD    TTTEIE    WAYS 

by  demon.  The  early  conversion  of  the  Goths,  proceeding 
from  tlie  Eastern  Church  (in  its  heretical  Arian  offshoot), 
and  the  later  conversion  of  the  West  Germanic  tribes, 
proceeding  from  the  Church  of  Rome,  are  mirrored  in 
devil.  Side  by  side  with  the  name  of  the  great  Hebrew 
spirit  of  evil,  we  have  the  name  of  an  obscure  French 
infantry  officer,  both  serving  as  '  common  nouns '  in 
English. 

Many  linguistic  processes  are  also  exemplified.  We 
have  seen  native  words  modified  by  foreign  influences, 
and  foreign  words  subjected  to  native  modifications. 
'  Popular  etymology,'  which  changes  a  word  so  as  to  make 
it  consistent  with  some  fancied  relation  to  another,^  is 
also  present.  Hybrid  and  tautological  compounds  are 
illustrated.  Metaphorical  shifts  of  meaning  abound. 
Generalization  and  specialization  are  manifest  everywhere. 

In  short,  our  brief  passage  of  simple  narrative  is  a 
great  panorama  of  linguistic  history,  and  we  discover,  on 
surveying  it,  that  the  history  of  language  is  the  history 
of  mankind. 

■iSee  Chapter  XXI 11. 


CHAPTER  XII 

COGNATES    AND   BORROWED   WORDS 

In  studying  a  language  like  our  own,  which  has  enriched 
its  native  stock  by  adopting  thousands  of  words  from 
foreign  tongues,  the  difference  between  '  cognate '  and 
'  borrowed '  words  is  of  great  moment.  Thus  we  say 
that  frate7'nal  is  '  borrowed '  from  the  Latin  fraternalis. 
Brother^  however,  is  not  borrowed  from  the  Latin  frater, 
but  '  cognate  '  with  it  or  ^  akin  '  to  it.  The  distinction  is 
particularly  important  in  judging  the  relations  between 
English  and  German.  Every  educated  Englishman 
knows  that  a  large  part  of  his  vocabulary  is  borrowed 
from  Latin  or  French ;  but  he  is  aware  of  a  great  residuum 
of  words  that  he  does  not  associate  with  those  languages, 
such  as  bread,  fiend,  friend,  hook,  wife.  When  he  is  first 
introduced  to  German,  and  meets  with  Brod,  Feind, 
Freund,  Buck,  Weih,  he  is  of  course  struck  with  their 
resemblance  to  these  hitherto  unexplained  native  words, 
and,  since  he  knows  that  much  of  his  native  language  is 
borrowed,  he  jumps  at  the  conclusion  that  the  same  is 
true  of  bread,  friend,  and  so  on.  Hence  the  popular 
error,  which  it  seems  almost  impossible  to  eradicate  in 
England,  that  words  like  this  were  borrowed  by  English 
from  the  German.  The  fact  is,  our  actual  borrowings 
from  that  language  are  almost  nil.  The  resemblances 
that  mislead  the  uninstructed  reader  are  due  to  the  fact 
that  the  English  and  the  German  words  are  cognate. 

159 


160  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

The  meaning  of  '  cognate '  in  this  etymological  use  may 
easily  be  seen  in  the  Romance  languages.  We  know  that 
French,  Italian,  Spanish,  and  Portuguese  are  all  descended 
from  a  single  language,  — -  the  Latin.  This  is  not  a  mat- 
ter of  inference,  but  of  settled  historical  fact.  When, 
therefore,  we  find  the  word  for  '  son '  appearing  as  fils  in 
French,  figlio  in  Italian,  hijo  in  Spanish,  Jillio  in  Portu- 
guese, and  remember  that  the  Latin  word  for  son  is 
films,  we  have  no  difficulty  in  accounting  for  tlie  similar- 
ity between  the  various  forms  without  supposing  that 
Italian  has  borrowed  from  French,  or  Portuguese  from 
Italian.  The  French,  Italian,  Spanish,  and  Portuguese 
words  resemble  each  other  because  they  all  come  from  the 
same  mother-language,  —  Latin.  Thus  we  explain  the 
likeness  of  Fr.  7nere,  Ital.  madre,  Sp.  madre,  Pg.  ma  I, 
as  due  to  their  common  origin  (L.  mater,  mafrem), 
and  so  on  with  almost  the  whole  vocabulary  of  the 
Romance  languages.  That  is,  the  ancestors  of  the 
French,  Italian,  Spanish,  and  Portuguese  peoples  once 
had  substantially  the  same  words  for  the  same  things;  but 
these  words  have  gradually  changed  their  forms,  whether 
much  or  little,  with  changing  conditions  of  government 
and  society.  Such  languages,  then,  are  cognate,  or  related 
languages,  and  the  words  which  they  possess  in  common, 
by  virtue  of  their  descent  from  a  common  inother-speech, 
are  called  cognate  ivords. 

In  the  case  of  the  (lermanic  languages,  as  English,  Ger- 
man,  Danish,  Dutch,  we  find  a  similar  state  of  tilings. 
Thus  we  have  so7i  (A.S.  sunu)  in  English,  Sohn  in  Ger- 
man, son  in  Danish,  zoon  in  Dutch,  and  so  on  with  a  large 
part  of  our  vocabulary.  This  leads  us  to  infer  that  there 
was  once  a  Germanic  mother-language  from  which  these 
words  have  descended  independently  in  different  tribes; 


COGNATES   AND  BORROWED    WORDS  161 

and  this  is  established  by  much  historical  evidence,  though 
we  have  not  (as  in  the  case  of  the  Romance  tongue)  the 
mother-language  actually  preserved  (as  Latin  is)  in 
ancient  documents.  The  Gothic,  a  Germanic  dialect 
which  was  reduced  to  writing  in  the  fourth  century, 
affords  us  much  assistance  in  reconstructing  the  primitive 
Germanic  forms. 

Similar  processes  with  other  groups  of  related  lan- 
guages enable  us  to  postulate  a  number  of  similar  mother- 
languages,  as  Celtic  (whence  Irish  and  Welsh),  Slavic 
(whence  Russian  and  Bulgarian),  Greek  (whence  various 
dialects  like  Attic  and  Ionic),  and  so  on. 

But  we  can  carry  our  investigations  still  farther  by 
this  method  of  observing  cognate  words. 

Thus  the  English  mother  (a  Germanic  word)  is  certainly 
not  derived  from  the  Latin  mater,  though  it  strongly  re- 
sembles that  word,  and  the  same  is  true  of  Gr.  /J^rJTrjp 
{meter'),  Celt,  mathair,  Russ.  mate,  and  Skt.  mdtr.  No 
one  of  these  words  can  be  borrowed  from  any  other ; 
yet  their  similarities  are  too  great  to  be  accidental,  and 
the  words  must  be  related  in  some  way.  The  natural 
inference  is  that  they  are  cognates,  and  that  Germanic, 
Latin,  Greek,  Celtic,  Slavic,  and  Sanskrit  are  all  descended 
from  a  single  mother-language  (the  so-called  'Lido-Euro- 
pean'),  as  French,  Italian,  and  Spanish  are  descended  from 
Latin.  Such  an  inference  is  established  beyond  cavil  by 
the  multitude  of  correspondences  which  these  languages 
show. 

Where  this  Indo-European  mother-language  was  first 
spoken  nobody  knows.  The  '  home  of  the  Aryans '  was 
once  thought  to  be  somewhere  in  Asia,  but  tliis  is  ex- 
tremely doubtful.  Nor  is  the  question  important.  We 
are  only  certain  that  the  family  which  it  has  produced 


162  WOIWS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

extended  from  Ireland  in  the  West  to  India  in  the  East, 
including  almost  all  the  languages  of  Europe,  and  several 
important  Asiatic  tongues.  The  nature  of  the  movements 
which  spread  the  Indo-European  over  so  large  an  area  is 
also  obscure  enough.  We  may  be  sure,  however,  that  they 
were  excessively  complicated,  including  almost  every 
possible  means  by  which  one  tribe  may  influence  another. 
Collectively,  they  are  often  styled  the  Indo-European 
Migration,  but  we  must  take  care  not  to  accept  all  that 
this  term  may  seem  to  imply.  Identity  of  language  does 
not  always  mean  identity  of  race.  We  know  of  many 
instances  in  which  a  whole  people  has  given  up  its  lan- 
guage :  the  Celts,  for  example,  in  Gaul ;  the  Iberians  in 
tSpain  ;  the  Franks  and  the  Normans  in  France ;  the  Nor- 
mans in  England;  the  Danes  in  East  Anglia.  Sometimes 
the  conqueror  communicates  his  speech  to  the  conquered  ;  at 
other  times  (as  with  the  Normans),  the  victors  adopt  the 
language  of  those  whom  they  have  subdued.  There  are 
'  migrations  of  culture,'  as  well  as  migrations  of  tribes,  and 
sometimes  a  very  little  leaven  suffices  to  leaven  a  large 
lump.  No  schematic  account  of  the  Indo-European  mi- 
gration can  be  right  in  all  its  details,  and  however  com- 
plicated the  scheme  which  scholarly  ingenuity  may  devise, 
the  truth,  if  we  could  discover  it,  would  be  much  more 
complicated.  Still,  we  can  tabulate  the  Indo-European 
Family  of  Languages  as  follows :  — 

I.    Indian.     (Sanskrit,  Pali,  etc.) 
II.    Iranian.     (Avestan,  Old  Persian,  etc.) 

III.  Armenian. 

IV.  Greek. 

V.   Italic.     (Latin,  with  its  descendants  the  Romance  languages,  — 
ItaHan,  French,  Spanish,  etc. ;  Oscan,  Umbrian,  etc.) 
VI.   Celtic.      (Irish  and  Highland  Gaelic,  Welsh  and  Armorican.) 


COGNATES  AND  BORROWED    WORDS  163 

VIT.    Slavonic.     (Russian,  Bulgarian,  Polish,  Bohemian,  etc.) 
VIII.   Baltic.     (Lithuanian,  Lettish,  Old  Prussian.) 
IX.    Teutonic  or  Gei-manic. 

A.  East  Germanic      (Gothic.) 

B.  Scandinavian.     (Icelandic,  Dano-Norwegian,  Swedish.) 

C.  West  Germanic. 

a.  High  Germanic.     (German.) 

b.  Low  Germanic.      (Old    Frisian,   Anglo-Saxon,    Old 

Saxon,   Old    Frankisli ;    Frisian,    English,    Platt- 
deutsch,  Dutch,  Flemish.) 

The  position  of  our  own  language  in  this  table  should 
be  carefully  observed.  It  belongs  to  the  Low  or  Coast 
division  of  the  West  Germanic  dialects,  as  German  belongs 
to  the  High  or  Inland  division  of  these  dialects.  Thus 
it  is  more  closel}^  related  to  Frisian,  Dutch,  Flemish, 
and  Plattdeutsch'^  than  to  German.  Besides  the  West 
Germanic  dialects,  the  Teutonic  branch  includes  East  Ger- 
manic (Gothic)  and  Scandinavian,  to  both  of  which  Eng- 
lish is  allied,  but  less  closely  than  to  the  West  Germanic 
languages.  Finally,  the  Germanic  group  as  a  whole  is  akin 
to  every  other  branch  of  the  Indo-European  family.  We 
must,  therefore,  expect  to  find  in  any  Germanic  language 
—  English,  for  instance  —  a  multitude  of  native  words 
which  show  similarities  to  Latin  and  Greek,  for  example, 
not  because  they  are  taken  from  the  classic  tongues  (as 
so  many  of  our  words  are),  but  by  virtue  of  the  com- 
mon descent  of  all  these  from  the  Indo-European  parent 
speech.  Thus  our  word  guest,  which  once  meant '  stran- 
ger,' and  the  Latin  hostis,  'enemy,'  are  the  same  word, 
but  lieither  is  borrowed  from  the  other  ;  they  are  cog- 
nates. Similarly,  six  and  seven  are  akin  to  sex  and  sep- 
tem,  knee  to  genu,  fish  to  piscis,  father  to  pater,  yoke  to 

^ '  Low  German  '  in  the  special  sense. 


164  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

ju[ium^  and  so  on  with  a  large  proportion  of  the  native 
element  in  our  speech.  These  correspondences  are  some- 
times striking  even  to  the  casual  observer,  —  as  in  six  and 
sex,  for  example,  —  at  other  times  it  requires  considerable 
knowledge  of  the  subject  to  perceive  them.  Since  Latin 
is  in  one  sense  an  older  language  than  our  own  (though 
from  another  point  of  view  all  Indo-European  languages 
are  equally  old,  as  being  independently  descended  from 
the  parent  stock),  we  expect  to  find  the  words  less  decayed 
in  Latin  than  in  English,  especially  modern  English,  which 
has  undergone  so  many  changes  since  the  Anglo-Saxon 
time.  But  this  is  not  always  the  case,  for  different  Indo- 
European  peoples  have  had  different  habits  of  linguistic 
conservatism.  Thus  our  word  snow  shows  an  Indo-Euro- 
pean initial  s  which  the  Latin  {s)mx,  7iivis,  and  the  Greek 
{a-)vi(f)a,  (synipha,  have  lost,  and  so  in  many  instances. 

Comparison  of  cognates  has  shown  that  the  changes  in 
human  speech,  arbitrary  as  they  seem  to  be,  proceed  in  ac- 
cordance with  definite  and  ascertainable  laws.  For  any 
united  body  of  people  form  certain  habits  of  utterance 
which  affect  their  whole  language  in  a  remarkably  uni- 
form way,  so  that  —  when  these  are  once  discovered  — 
one  can  predict  with  reasonable  certainty  what  form  the 
orio-inal  word  will  take  in  a  e^iven  dialect.  Thus  we  find 
that  it  was  the  unconscious  habit  of  the  Spanish  provincials 
to  change  Latin/  to  7i  at  the  beginning  of  a  word,  so  that 
fahulare,  '  to  speak,'  became  habldt%  facere  became  hacer, 
and  so  on.  Hence  we  look  for  the  Latin  falco,  '  falcon,' 
under  //.  in  the  Spanish  dictionary,  and  find  it  appearing 
as  halcSn;  formosus  appears  as  hermdso,  and  so  on.  Such 
habits,  or  'laws  of  sound-change,'  are  equally  noticeable 
in  studying  the  development  of  the  various  Indo-Euroi^ean 
languages  from  the  parent-speech.     They  may  be  followed 


COGNATES  AND  BORROWED    WORDS  165 

out  in  minute  detail,  and  their  existence  and  regularity 
have  made  Comparative  Grammar  almost  an  exact  science. 

It  is  in  great  part  our  knowledge  of  such  laws  as  this 
that  enables  us  to  distinguish  with  precision  between 
coornates  and  borrowed  words.  For  when  a  word  is 
simply  taken  by  one  language  from  another,  it  suffers  at 
first  comparatively  little  change  in  its  form.  Thus  we 
know  that  the  Indo-European  p  was  preserved  in  Latin  but 
became  /  in  Germanic,  —  and  this  makes  it  easy  to  recog- 
nize the  Latin  pccus  and  our  fee  as  cognates,  —  that  is,  as 
the  common  descendants  of  an  Indo-European  word. 
Both  originally  meant  '  cattle,'  a  sense  which  the  Latin 
has  kept,  while  in  English  fee  has  come  to  mean  '  prop- 
erty '  in  general,  and  has  then  suffered  further  changes  of 
meaning.  Similarly  we  recognize  piseis  and  fish  as  cog- 
nates. When,  however,  we  find  piscatorial  in  English, 
and  p)iscatorius  in  Latin,  we  have  no  hesitation  in  recog- 
nizing the  former  as  borrowed  from  the  latter,  and  so  in 
thousands  of  instances. 

We  have  said  that  Comparative  Grammar  is  almost  an 
exact  science.  The  qualification  is  necessary,  for  appear- 
ances are  deceitful,  in  linguistics  as  in  life,  and  phenomena 
have  to  be  examined  with  the  greatest  care,  even  when  all 
the  facts  are  in  our  possession,  which  is  rarely  the  case. 
As  an  example  of  the  difficulties  that  beset  the  investigator, 
take  the  so-called  'New  England  o.'  It  is  well  known 
that  the  long  sound  of  o  represented  by  oa  in  road^  tends, 
in  the  natural  speech  of  New  England,  to  become  a  short 
open  0,  difficult  for  those  who  are  unfamiliar  witli  it  to 
imitate,  but  equally  hard  for  a  born  Yankee  to  avoid. 
Thus  we  have  coat,  toad,  load,  boat,  and  so  on.  We  should 
at  once  infer  that  a  New  Englander  would  say  goat,  but 
in  fact,  this  word  is  never  so  pronounced,  but  is  always 


166  WOEDS  AND   TUEIR    WAYS 

(/oat,  without  the  shortening.  The  reason  is  clear  enough 
in  this  case,  for  the  phenomena  are  all  recent,  and  the 
facts  are  known.  The  goat  is  not  a  familiar  animal  in 
this  region,  so  that  the  name  for  it  is  rather  a  literary 
than  a  popular  word;  it  is  not  properly  in  the  dialect,  and 
hence  does  not  share  in  its  peculiarities.  The  tendency 
in  question  had  thus  no  opportunity  to  make  itself  felt  as 
in  coat  and  toad,  which  every  child  learns  not  from  books, 
but  from  common  talk.  Suppose,  however,  we  were  deal- 
ing with  a  word  that  became  obsolete  two  or  three  thou- 
sand years  ago.  We  should  be  at  a  loss  to  account  for 
the  '  exception  to  the  law,'  and  might  even  be  tempted  to 
provide  [/oat  with  some  strange  etymology  or  ascribe  a 
peculiar  quality  to  its  vowel  in  order  to  explain  the  facts. 

Furthermore,  there  are  many  opportunities  for  analogy 
and  for  hybrids  and  cross-breedings  in  language.  Thus 
our  nepheiv  is,  in  a  manner,  both  a  native  and  a  borrowed 
word.  I]i  Anglo-Saxon  it  was  nefa  (/  pronounced  as  v)i 
and  this  is  cognate  with  the  Latin  neijos,  nepotis.  The 
French  neveu,  however,  which  is  the  Latin  word  in  a  de- 
cayed form,  influenced  tlie  English  word,  and  the  result  is 
our  7iephew,  which  is  neither  Anglo-Saxon  nor  French,  but 
an  amalgam  of  both.  Such  processes  as  this  may  have 
been  operative  at  any  time  in  the  history  of  the  Indo- 
European  family,  and  their  action  interferes  a  good  deal 
with  the  certainty  of  prehistoric  etymologizing. 

Still,  when  all  deductions  have  been  made,  there  remains 
enousfh  that  is  reg-ular  and  undoubted  to  substantiate  the 
claim  of  Comparative  Grammar  to  be  a  true  science.  It 
has  occupied  some  of  the  keenest  intellects  among  scholars 
during  the  past  century,  and  the  results  justify  us  in 
speaking  with  great  confidence  about  the  relations  of  the 
Indo-European  tongues  to  each  other  and  to  the  parent- 


COGNATES  AND  BORROWED   JVORDS  1G7 

speech  Avliich  lias  been  obsolete  for  so  many  thousand 
years.  These  results  afford  the  only  firm  basis  for  inves- 
tigating the  history  of  words.  In  particular,  they  enable 
us  to  reason  with  assurance  about  certain  very  ancient 
processes  in  the  growth  of  the  inflectional  languages,  as 
we  shall  have  to  do  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER    XIIT 

THE    DEVELOPMENT    OF    WORDS 

I.    ROOTS,  STEMS,  INFLECTION ^ 

The  origin  of  language,  as  we  have  already  seen,  is  an 
unsolved  problem;  yet  the  study  of  single  words  reveals 
many  facts  about  the  development  of  their  form  which 
make  the  question  of  their  origin  at  least  a  simpler  one. 
We  find  in  our  own  words,  on  comparing  them  with  other 
languages  from  which  they  have  been  borrowed  or  wdiich 
have  had  a  common  origin  with  our  own,  certain  obvious 
joints,  as  it  were,  which  show  clearly  that  the  words  have 
been  built  up  of  simpler  elements  by  a  process  of  aggrega- 

1  This  chapter  sets  forth  the  main  principles  that  have  governed  the 
development  of  words,  as  to  their  form,  in  our  family  of  lani;uages.  For 
the  sake  of  clearness,  distinctions  have  been  somewhat  sharply  made,  and 
cautionary  provisos  have  been  omitted  whenever  there  was  danger  that 
they  would  rather  confuse  than  enlighten.  Any  orderly  statement  of 
these  phenomena  must  be  somewhat  misleading  ;  for,  though  the  develop- 
ment of  language  is  in  general  what  is  indicated,  no  single  process  ceased 
to  act  at  the  moment  when  another  process  began.  The  actual  operations 
of  speech-making  in  the  Indo-European  family  must  have  been  almost 
unimaginably  complicated.  The  most  minutely  scientific  investigation 
can  arrive  at  only  a  part  of  the  truth.  A  general  outline  must  therefore 
be  content  to  omit  qualifications  and  parentheses.  In  particular,  how- 
ever, the  reader  sliould  remember  that  the  growth  of  stems  did  not 
immediately  put  an  end  to  the  root-period,  and  that  the  rise  of  inflection 
did  not  instantly  put  an  end  to  the  development  of  stems.  Everything 
was  gradual.  The  old  processes  survived  alongside  of  the  new,  and  only 
died  out  after  long  periods  of  time. 

A  furtlier  caution  is  necessary.  The  principles  here  set  forth  accord 
with  the  accepted  results  of  philological  science.     In  other  words,  they 

168 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF    WORDS  IG9 

tion  or  combination ;  that  is,  we  tincl  in  the  words  certain 
sounds  (letters  or  syllables)  which  appear  elsewhere  in 
other  combinations,  always  with  essentially  the  same  sig- 
nificance. It  seems  justifiable  to  conclude  that  these 
parts  were  once  independent,  and  were  afterward  put 
together,  just  as  we  might  infer  with  reference  to  frame 
and  strings,  handle  and  blade,  wheel  and  axle,  or  the  parts 
of  any  other  complex  tool.  To  these  component  parts 
in  their  last  analysis  we  give  the  name  of  roots.  Of 
these  roots  we  find  two  kinds  :  (1)  roots  wdiicli  express 
actions,  states,  qualities,  and  other  definite  conceptions,  and 
(2)  roots  which  express  less  definite  conceptions,  such  as 
place,  direction,  and  the  like.  To  the  first  class  we  give 
the  name  of  verbal  roots,  because  they  seem  to  carry  the 
idea  expressed  in  verbs,  though  they  are  in  fact  no  more 

furnish  tlie  most  probable  explanation  of  linguistic  phenonieua,  as  the 
Copernican  astronomy  is  the  simplest  hypothesis  yet  found  to  account 
for  the  phenomena  of  the  lieavens.  Some  details,  however,  are  by  no 
means  settled.  Thus  the  exact  nature  of  stem-suffixes  is  far  from  cer- 
tain. It  is  convenient  to  call  them  '  i)rononiinal  roots,'  but  we  should 
remember  that  what  seems  to  us  a  simple  stem-suffix  may  be  merely  a 
fragment  of  a  longer  root,  or  even  a  remnant  of  another  fully  developed 
stem.  Furtliermore,  the  forms  given  to  roots  are  simply  such  forms  as 
we  can  infer  from  the  fully  developed  words.  We  are  by  no  means  sure 
of  the  actual  forms  of  these  roots  at  the  time  when  they  alone  constituted 
language ;  nor  can  we  be  sure  that  everything  that  seems  to  be  a  root 
actually  goes  back  to  this  root-period  in  any  form.  Again,  in  selecting 
words  to  illustrate  stem-formation,  composition,  and  the  like,  we  cannot 
always  know  that  the  example  is  old  enough  to  belong  to  the  period  which 
we  use  it  to  illustrate.  It  may  have  been  formed  long  afterward  on  the 
analogy  of  older  formations  of  the  stem-period  which  set  the  fashion  for 
later  derivation  and  composition.  All  these  are  questions  of  importance 
in  a  minutely  scientific  study  of  single  roots  and  stems.  But  they  do  not 
affect  the  main  theory  of  linguistic  development,  and  hence  they  are  of 
no  immediate  consequence  in  a  brief  outline  of  the  subject. 

One  point,  however,  should  never  be  lost  sight  of :  in  spite  of  the  dis- 
tinctions we  have  to  make  between  stem-formation,  word-composition, 
derivation,  and  inflection,  these  processes  are  all  substantially  identical. 
They  are  all  cumposUion  in  the  larger  sense  of  the  word. 


170  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

verbal  than  nominal  in  their  significance.  To  the  second 
class  we  give  the  name  of  pronominal  roots,  because  a 
great  number  of  them  occur  in  pronouns,  and  because 
they  seem  to  express  ideas  of  a  relative  nature,  such  as 
are  found  in  pronouns  and  indefinite  adverbs.  There  are 
many  apparent  elements  which  we  cannot  surely  assign  to 
either  class,  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  distinction  is 
fundamental.  It  is  not  certain  whether  at  some  period 
in  the  development  of  language  either  kind  could  not  be 
used  in  place  of  the  other.  For  instance,  the  first  i  in 
itinerary  is  called  a  verbal  root  because  it  means  'go'  in 
many  languages  (as  in  L.  ire^  Gr.  levat^  ienai),  while 
the  first  i  in  iteration  is  called  pronominal,  because  it 
often  appears  in  pronominal  words,  such  as  it  and  the 
like.  Yet  it  seems  probaljle  that  these  two  roots  were 
once  identical,  and  so  with  many  others. 

The  process  of  aggregation  indicated  above  seems  not 
to  have  been  promiscuous  and  at  haphazard,  but  orderly 
and  proceeding  in  a  definite  manner.  In  most  instances 
we  find  the  root  of  the  first  kind  at  the  beginning  of 
words,  amplified  by  the  addition  of  one  or  more  roots  of 
the  second  kind.  Of  course  some  words  of  the  pronomi- 
nal sort  contain  no  verbal  root,  and  in  this  case  they  con- 
sist of  a  similar  aggregation  of  pronominal  roots;  but  the 
more  significant  and  definite  words  have  a  verbal  root  at 
the  beginning.  To  take  the  two  examples  just  cited  : 
itinerary  (L.  itinerarium)  is  analyzable  into  i  +  ti  +  no 
+  er  -\-  a  +  ri  +  (o),  all  except  the  first  found  elsewhere 
as  pronominal  roots  ;  and  iteration  (L.  iteratio')  may  be 
broken  up  into  i  +  ti  +  ro  +  a  +  ti  +  on,  all  found  as  pro- 
nominal. These  examples  illustrate  the  two  forms  of 
combination  that  are  regular  in  our  family  of  languages. 

A  root,  then,  is  the  simplest  form  that  can  be  recognized 


TUB  DEVELOPMENT  OF   ]VORDS  171 

as  having  once  had  an  independent  existence  and  meaning 
in  the  development  of  words. 

As  these  roots  are  common  to  many  words  of  very  dif- 
ferent senses,  it  is  sometimes  difficult  to  distinguish  what 
was  the  original  conception  that  a  root  expressed.  Ac- 
cordingly we  assign  to  each  root  that  meaning  from  which 
it  is  possible  to  develop  all  the  various  ideas  attached  to 
the  words  in  which  it  appears.  This  sense  is  often  very 
vague,  and  it  becomes  a  question  how  a  primitive  people, 
whose  ideas  are  closely  connected  with  the  senses,  could 
be  satisfied  with  such  representations  of  ideas  as  these. 
The  answer  is,  that  a  conception  that  is  very  graphic  to 
the  senses  may  include  a  great  variety  of  associated  ideas 
which  it  may  represent.  For  example,  the  root  pet  seems 
vague  to  us.  It  is  defined  as  'fall,  fiy,  aim,'  and  clearly 
shows  all  these  varied  senses  in  its  different  forms  and 
derivatives.  Yet  the  root  may  have  originally  stood  for 
a  'motion  in  a  certain  direction  through  the  air'  —  a  very 
graphic  and  sensible  conception,  from  which  the  other 
meanings  were  specialized  as  time  went  on.  The  cause, 
or  else  the  result,  of  such  motion  might  be  either  '  falling,' 
'  flight,'  or  '  aim,'  and  so  the  same  sound  pet  could  express 
either  of  these  ideas.  So  with  duc,  '  lead,'  AG,  '  drive,' 
ED,  'eat,'  PA,  'drink,'  cad,  'fall,'  and  many  others.  It  is 
not  necessary  that  we  should  consider  such  signs  as  repre- 
senting nouns  or  verbs.  It  is  probable  that  the  distinction 
had  not  been  developed  in  the  root-period,  and  that  a  sign 
could  be  used  for  either  or  both,  just  as  a  child  can  employ 
any  word  that  he  knows  for  anything  that  he  wants  to  say 
about  the  thing  or  its  associated  ideas.  ^     From  this  con- 

1  Here  the  potency  of  signilicaut  tones  and  inflections  of  tlie  voice  may 
well  be  taken  into  account  as  a  means  of  distinction.  Gestures  may  also 
have  helped  to  indicate  the  special  sense  in  some  instances. 


1T2  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

sideration  of  roots  and  their  meaning  it  is  evident  that 
roots  are  no  mere  abstractions,  thougli  they  now  have  to 
be  dug  out,  or  abstracted,  from  words  by  comparison,  and 
no  longer  exist  independently  in  actual  speech.  They 
once  did  so  exist,  and  expressed  thought. 

The  next  step  in  linguistic  growth  is  the  formation  of 
steyns,  which  takes  place  long  before  the  development  of 
what  we  call  inllection.  Stems  came  into  existence  by 
the  union  of  verbal  and  pronominal  roots.  That  is  to  say, 
the  vague  meaning  and  general  application  of  the  verbal 
root  were  limited  or  specialized  by  the  addition  of  one  or 
more  pronominal  roots,  and  thus  was  produced  a  new  com- 
plex (the  stem)  capable  of  being  used  for  the  conveyance 
of  ideas  in  the  same  manner  as  the  root,  but  with  a  greater 
definiteness  of  meaning.  Stems  are  not  yet  words,  and 
hence  we  must  not  expect  to  find  them  existing  separately 
in  any  language,  for  all  these  processes  precede  the 
formation  of  real  words  as  we  know  them.  Yet  stems 
may  still  be  clearly  seen  in  the  first  part  of  compound 
words.  Thus  the  stem  agro-  (root  AG  +  ro),  which  meant 
(vaguely)  '  field '  is  seen  in  the  Greek  compound  word 
a<ypo-v6fio<;  (a/jro-nomos),  'inhabiting  the  country,'  and,  in 
the  form  agi-l-,  in  the  Latin  agri-cola,  '  farmer '  (literally 
'  field-cultivator  ').  This  form  agro-  (agri-)  nowhere  exists 
by  itself,  but  it  must  once  have  so  existed,  or  it  could  not 
have  been  used  in  making  compounds.  The  second  part 
of  the  compound  agri-cola  is  from  the  stem  cold-  (root 
COL  -f-  (7).  Similarly  armi-ger  is  made  up  of  two  stems 
armo-  (from  ail  -j-  mo),  -muX  gcro  (from  cki;  +  o). 

Since  stems  are  not  words,  and  no  such  thing  as  syntax 
existed  in  the  stem-period,  Ave  cannot  designate  stems  as 
parts  of  speech,  —  nouns,  verbs,  and  so  on.  Yet  there  was 
doubtless  sullicient  specialization  to  differentiate  stems  in 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  WOEDS  173 

a  vague  way  as  nominal  or  verbal,  —  so  that  one  stem 
vaguely  suggested  (like  ac/ro-  or  armo-^  the  name  of  a 
thing,  another  (like  cold-  or  gero-^  produced  an  idea  more 
active  in  its  nature,  a  partly  verbal  idea.  Yet  nouns  and 
verbs  as  such  could  hardly  exist  before  the  inflectional 
period.  In  the  stem-period,  it  was  still  possible  to  express 
a  verbal  idea  by  a  stem  which  seems  to  us  chiefly  nominal, 
and  vice  verm.  This  state  of  things  accounts  for  certain 
phenomena  which  seem  anomalous  to  the  young  student 
of  grammar.  Thus  in  Latin  a  noun  tactio,  '  the  act  of 
touching,'  may  sometimes  govern  the  accusative  case :  as, 
hanc  tactio.,  '  the  act  of  touching  her,'  where  Jianc  is  the 
object  of  the  verbal  idea  contained  in  the  noun  tactio.  In 
English  a  whole  class  of  nouns  (the  so-called  verbal  nouns 
in  -^>^//)  have  this  power.  Thus  in  such  a  sentence  as 
'  Eating  fruit  is  good  for  the  health,'  eating  is  a  noun ; 
yet  it  has  sufficient  verbal  force  to  take  fruit  as  its 
object.  1 

Sometimes  a  stem  was  formed  by  merely  repeating  the 
root,  as  the  Italian  uses  piano  inano,  the  French  beau  beau, 
or  a  child  goody  goody,  to  express  a  high  degree  of  the  idea 
intended.  Examples  are  found  in  all  reduplicated  words 
like  murmnr,  L.  turtur,  'turtle  dove,'  and  also  (much 
modified)  in  such  forms  of  reduplication  as  momordi,  'I 
liave  bitten,'  used  for  inflectional  purposes.^ 

A  stem,  then,  is  a  complex  of  sounds  expressing  an  idea, 

1  Our  infinitive  is  also  an  old  noun  ;  yet  we  feel  it  as  a  verb  even 
when  its  nominal  nature  is  clearest :  as  in  '  To  eat  fruit  is  good  for  the 
health.'     Compare  also  the  old  idiom  in  '  What  went  ye  out  for  to  see  ?' 

2  So  Latin  sisto  shows  a  reduplication  of  the  root  sta  seen  in  the  simpler 
verb  sto.  Usually  the  first  part  of  the  reduplication  is  that  which  lias 
been  modified.  Sometimes,  however,  it  is  the  second,  and  we  get  what 
is  called  '  broken  reduplication,'  as  in  gargle  (connected  with  L.  gurgulio, 
'gullet')  ;  cf.  gargoyle. 


174  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

and  ready  for  composition  and  inflection,  but  not  yet  sub- 
jected to  either.^ 

The  endings  which  were  added  to  roots  to  make  stems 
such  as  we  have  been  describing  were  very  simple  ele- 
ments, such  as  -0,  -«,  -u,  -vo,  -Jco,  -710,  -tii,  and  the  like. 
The  stems  themselves  were  later  more  or  less  specialized 
in  sense ;  but  originally  they  must  have  been,  from  the 
nature  of  the  materials  out  of  which  they  were  formed, 
pretty  indefinite  in  their  signification.  Many  of  them 
had  a  kind  of  adjective  nature,  expressing  in  a  loose  and 
indeterminate  way  almost  any  relation  between  the  primi- 
tive idea  of  the  root  and  some  other  conception  or  concep- 
tions to  which  the  stem  might  be  applied. 

The  system  must  have  attained  an  enormous  develop- 
ment before  words,  as  such,  came  into  existence.  Thus 
there  were  produced  in  this  prehistoric  period  of  lan- 
guage an  immense  number  of  such  vague  adjective  stem- 
forms,  many  of  which  have  survived  in  the  languages 
of  our  family,  with  their  senses  somewhat  specialized, 
l)ut,  in  accordance  with  their  origin,  preserving  (even 
after  they  have  become  definite  parts  of  speech)  much 
of  their  original  vagueness,  so  that  they  easily  acquire 
new  special  meanings  as  time  goes  on.  There  was  also 
a  tendency  to  add  further  stem-endings  of  a  similar  sort 
to  stems  already  formed ;  and  by  this  heaping  up  of 
stem-suffixes,  new  suffixes  came  into  existence,  and  new 
and   more    complicated   stems    were    constantly   growing 

1  Though  the  stem-period  of  language  is  said  to  follow  the  root-period, 
it  must  be  remembered  that  the  development  of  stems  did  not  immediately 
put  an  end  to  the  independent  existence  of  roots.  In  fact,  the  root-period 
in  a  manner  extends  throughout  the  stem-period,  for  roots  were  often 
used  as  stems  without  the  addition  of  pronominal  (stem)  suffixes.  In- 
deed, except  for  clearness,  it  would  be  better  to  regard  the  stem-period  as 
merely  a  second  stage  of  the  root-period, 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  WOEDS  175 

iip.'^  Thus  arose  the  system  of  derivative  endings 
(such  as  -er,  -ness,  -est,  and  so  on),  which  is  still  one 
of  the  most  prolific  sources  of  new  words  in  our  lan- 
guage.2 

The  original  vagueness  of  all  such  stem-formations  may 
be  seen  in  the  senses  which  the  resultant  words  bear  in 
even  the  most  highly  developed  periods  of  cultivated 
languages.  The  adjective  fox-^,  for  instance,  may  be 
applied  to  anything  resembling  a  fox  either  in  color,  in 
actions,  or  in  craft.  A  better  example  may  be  seen  in  a 
number  of  words  derived  from  the  root  pak,  'to  feed.' 
First  we  have  L.  2^ecu,  'a  flock.'  From  this  comes  j^ecu- 
Uum,  (1)  '  a  little  part  of  the  flock  reserved  for  the  slave's 
private  property,'  or  (2)  '  a  little  garden-plot  given  to  a 
child.'  Then  we  have  the  adjectiYe  pecuUaris,  'belonging 
or  pertaining  in  any  way  to  this  little  part  oi  the  flock,' 
and  hence  comes  the  idea  of  peculiar,  in  its  variety  of 
applications:  as  in  'my  peculiar  (^.e.  personal)  property,' 
'the  Lord's  peculiar  people,'  'a  peculiar  institution,' 
'peculiar  notions,'  'a  peculiar  fellow,'  'the  story  seems 
somewhat  peculiar.'  Then,  by  further  growth,  we  get  the 
abstract  noun  peculiarity.  So  familiaris  means  originally 
'belonging  to  the  familia  or  household,'  and  we  easily 
get  familiar  in  its  different  shades  of  meaning,  iMid  famil- 
iarity  and  famiUarly.     All   this  shows   how   vague  the 

1  This  multiplication  of  suffixes  is  especially  seen  in  the  languages  that 
(like  Greek  and  Latin)  received  literary  cultivation  at  an  early  period. 
The  more  '  barbarous '  tongues,  not  feeling  the  need  of  so  many  or  so 
finely  discriminated  words,  escaped  this  tendency.  Thus  in  the  Teu- 
tonic languages  we  usually  have  shorter  words  than  in  Latin.  The 
English  vocabulary  consists  of  two  largs  classes  of  words, — Teutonic 
(from  Anglo-Saxon)  and  Latin  (from  Latin  and  French) ;  hence  we  can 
see  this  difference  in  the  component  parts  of  our  own  speech. 

2  The  details  of  this  system  will  be  studied  later.  Here  it  is  only 
intended  to  suggest  the  general  principles  of  development. 


176  WOIiDS   AND   THEIR    WAYS 

connection  of  meaning  between  the  primitive  form  and 
its  various  derivative  stems  must  have  been.  The  pro- 
cesses are  all  easy  and  natural,  but  very  little  is  actually 
expressed  in  each  step  of  derivation.  All  that  was 
needed  was  a  loose  connection  with  the  primitive  idea ;  the 
imagination  and  the  conventions  of  speech  have  done  the 
rest.i 

All  the  processes  which  we  have  so  far  studied  are 
processes  of  composition^  that  is,  they  consist  in  the  com- 
bination of  significant  elements  to  make  a  new  complex  of 
a  somewhat  different  meaning.  But  we  have  not  yet 
considered  composition  in  the  ordinary  sense,  —  that  pro- 
cess which  results  in  giving  us  compound  words,  like 
butterfli/,  torc1ihea7'ei\  railroad.,  and  the  like.  The  type 
for  such  formations  goes  back  to  the  stem-period :  that  is, 
though  we  now  make  new  compounds  by  putting  together 
distinct  words,  we  do  so  in  accordance  with  a  method 
which  developed  when  there  were  no  words,  properly  so 
called,  but  only  stems. 

Stems,  as  we  have  seen,  early  become  somewhat  differ- 
entiated, so  that  it  is  possible  to  speak  of  nominal  and 
verbal  stems,  though  the  distinction  was  not  by  any 
means  so  sharp  as  that  between  our  nouns  and  verbs. 
Many  stems,  as  we  have  also  seen,  had  a  kind  of  vague 
adjective  signification.  An  important  step  in  linguistic 
development  was  taken  when  two  stems,  thus  differen- 
tiated, were  juxtaposed,  and  finally  united  into  a  single 
complex  stem-form,  or  compound,  having  a  sense  far  more 
definite  than  attached  to  either  stem  alone.  This  •  is 
composition,   which  has  remained  one   of  the  commonest 


1  Compare  what  has  been  said  of  the  poetic  faculty  as  the  most  active 
influence  in  linguistic  development  (pp.  7  ff. ). 


TTTE  DEVELOPMENT   OF   WORDS  177 

means    of  manufacturing  new   words   in   our    family    of 
languages. 

By  this  process  of  stem-composition  a  kind  of  rudi- 
mentary syntax  arose.  Thus,  the  stem  cold-  (the  root 
COL  +  d~)  meant  vaguely  a  'cultivator.'  To  this  was  pre- 
fixed the  stem  atjri-  (agro-^^  '  a  field,'  and  the  compound 
agri-cold-  signified  vaguely  the  kind  of  cultivator  that 
stood  in  some  relation  to  a  field.  Of  course  this  could 
only  mean  what  we  should  express  syntactically  in  the 
form  '  the  cultivator  of  a  field,'  or  '  one  who  cultivates  the 
field,'  or  'a  man  who  tills  the  soil.'  Thus  this  stem-com- 
pound agri-cold-  served,  before  there  was  any  such  thing 
as  syntax,  to  suggest  by  association  of  ideas  the  sense 
which  syntax  now  definitely  expresses.  So  L.  luclfer 
(stem  luci-fero-~)  means  '  light-bearer,'  '  one  who  brings 
light,'  L.  auceps  (stem  avi-cap-~),  'he  who  catches  birds,' 
and  so  on.  Of  course,  we  actually  know  such  stem-com- 
pounds only  in  a  later  form,  —  as  real  words  (^agricola 
being  tlie  Latin  word  for  'farmer').  Hence  we  cannot 
be  sure  that  any  particular  example  is  old  enough  to  go 
back  to  the  stem-period.  But  this  makes  no  difference 
for  our  present  purpose.  Compounds  made  after  the 
end  of  the  stem-period  simply  followed  the  model  of  the 
older  forms,  and  are  equally  good  to  illustrate  the  princi- 
ples under  discussion.  That  the  suggestions  conveyed  by 
the  complexes  in  question  were  originally  far  more  vague 
than  they  seem  to  us,  and  that  the  meanings  of  tlie  stems 
of  which  they  are  composed  were  therefore  still  more 
vague,  may  be  seen  by  examining  a  number  of  compound 
words  in  English.  It  will  at  once  appear  that  the  rela- 
tion of  the  two  ideas  to  each  other  varies  widely  in  differ- 
ent compounds.  Thus  we  have  hutterhall,  a  ball  that 
consists  of  butter ;   hutferfly^  a  fly  that  is  yellow  like  but- 

N 


178  WORDS  AND   THEIIi    WAYS 

ter ;  buttermilk,  the  milk  tliat  remains  after  the  butter  has 
been  made ;  lmtte7'tuh,  a  tub  in  which  butter  is  kept ;  hut- 
terwoman.,  a  woman  who  sells  butter ;  Initter fingers^  a  per- 
son whose  fingers  are  slipper}^  so  that  he  cannot  hold 
anything,  a  careless  person.  Compare  also  the  variety 
shown  in  hodman^  aslmian  (^dustmaii),  motorman,  7nilkman, 
fisherman,  shipman,  clergyman.^  The  hodman  carries  the 
hod ;  the  ashman  or  dustman  collects  and  takes  away  ashes  ; 
the  motorman  manages  the  motor ;  the  milkman  distributes 
milk ;  the  fisherman  is  a  fisher ;  the  sliipman  sails  in  a 
ship  ;  the  clergyman  belongs  to  the  clergy. 

We  see  that  language,  even  in  tlie  highly  developed 
stage  in  which  we  know  it,  suggests  much  more  than  it 
expresses.  We  may  learn  the  same  lesson  from  any  con- 
versation. It  is  seldom  necessary  to  hear  the  whole  of  a 
sentence  in  order  to  know  what  the  speaker  means. 
Such  considerations  make  it  easy  to  comprehend  how 
language  w^as  intelligible  enough  before  the  dawn  of 
syntax. 

We  have  now  traced  the  history  of  language  through 
its  earliest  ascertainable  periods.  Beginning  with  roots, 
the  simplest  elements,  we  have  traced  the  development  of 
simple  stems,  and  have  seen  some  of  the  ways  in  which 
these  became  more  complicated  by  the  addition  of  further 
suffixes  and  by  composition.  All  tliis,  however,  is  intensely 
prehistoric.  AVe  have  not  yet  arrived  at  words  indepen- 
dently usable  as  such,  and  wo  have  therefore  no  proper 
syntax.  A  further  step  is  necessary, — namely  injiection, 
and  this  we  must  now  consider. 

The  phenomenon  of  inflection  consists  in  the  addition 

1  Man  in  these  words  has  sunk  ahiiost  to  the  rank  of  a  mere  suffix, 
so  that  the  compounds  iUustrate  the  essential  identity  of  the  processes 
that  we  are  studying. 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  WORDS  179 

to  stems  of  certain  suffixes  which  so  limit  the  application 
of  the  stems  in  various  ways,  that  they  are  capable  of 
combining-  syntactically  in  sentences  to  express  all  those 
distinctions  of  time,  place,  action,  existence,  manner, 
description,  and  the  like,  which  we  include  under  the 
grammatical  terms  of  2)a7'fs  of  speech.,  mood.,  tense,  ge7ider, 
active,  j9rtssi?;e,  and  the  rest.  We  have  no  actual  knowl- 
edge of  any  language  of  our  family  at  a  period  antedating 
inflection.  In  fact,  at  the  earliest  stage  of  the  Indo- 
European  parent-speech  at  which  we  can  arrive  with  sci- 
entific certainty,  the  language  was  already  highly  inflected. 
Yet  Ave  may  feel  confident  of  the  general  nature  of  the 
process  which  advanced  language  from  the  stem-period  to 
the  period  of  inflection  and  syntax.  Like  all  tlie  processes 
which  we  have  been  studying,  this,  too,  was  essentially  a 
process  of  conijjositiofi. 

In  compound  words,  as  we  can  observe  in  our  own  habits 
of  speech,  there  is  often  a  tendency  to  clip  or  sink  the  less 
important  member.  Thus  wan  in  fisherman,  workman, 
clergyman,  is  less  fully  pronounced  than  when  it  stands 
alone.  Yet  the  abrasion  has  not  disassociated  the  man  in 
fisherma7i  from  the  ordinary  word  man;  we  still  recognize 
the  identity  of  the  two.  In  Jdng-dom,  hoAvever,  we  no 
longer  recognize  the  last  syllable  -dom  as  identical  Avith 
our  Avord  doom  (A.S.  dom'),  partly  because  of  the  abrasion, 
and  partly  because  of  a  difference  in  sense.  The  -dom.  in 
kingdom,,  then,  has  sunk  to  the  position  of  a  mere  suffix. 
We  should  never  suspect  that  it  had  once  been  an  inde- 
pendent Avord.  This  abrasion  is  still  more  marked  in 
-ly,  Avhich  is  the  Anglo-Saxon  -lice,  our  like,  but  Avhich, 
though  it  keeps  the  sense  Avhich  it  had  AAdien  it  was  a 
word,  has  become  a  pure  suffix.  We  add  -ly  to  an  adjec- 
tive to  form  an  adverb,  just  as  Ave  add  -er  and  -est  to  form 


180  WOBDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

the  comparative  and  the  superlative,  or  -inr/  to  a  verb  to 
form  a  present  participle  or  a  verbal  noun. 

We  may  suppose  that  inflectional  forms  were  gained  in 
a  similar  manner  during  the  stem-period,  ■ —  that  is,  by 
processes  of  petrified  and  abraded  composition,  —  though 
in  these  inflections  we  can  no  longer  identify  the  compo- 
nent parts.  Occasional  phenomena  in  later  periods  of 
linguistic  history  tend  to  substantiate  this  view.  Thus 
the  English  ending  -est,  in  the  second  person  of  verbs  (as 
in  hindeiit,  runnest)  occurs  in  Anglo-Saxon  both  as  -est  and 
as  -es.  The  form  in  -es  is  the  older  ;  that  in  -est  came 
from  the  habit  of  suffixing  the  pronoun  tJiFi,  'thou.'  Hence 
hindes  thu  became  hindestu,  and  the  t,  which  really  belonged 
to  the  pronoun,  was  felt  as  a  part  of  the  verb,  so  that  in 
time  hindest  replaced  hindes  as  the  regular  form.  The 
same  thing  has  taken  place  in  High  German.  A  somewhat 
similar  example  occurs  in  recent  'vulgar  English.'  Le€s 
for  let  us  is  often  pronounced  less,  which  has,  in  the  mouths 
of  ignorant  speakers,  become  a  petrified  hortative  form, — 
so  that  'less  us  go'  is  frequently  heard. 

How  easily  inflection  may  grow  out  of  composition  may 
also  be  seen  in  such  a  form  as  heavenivard.  Here  -ivard 
is  a  suffix  (cognate  with  L.  verto)  denoting  'to.'  Nobody 
feels  it  as  an  independent  word,  yet  it  certainly  was  such 
at  one  time.  It  is  used  in  making  adverbs  of  directioil 
from  nouns ;  but  we  can  easily  imagine  its  having  become 
so  universal  as  to  be  attached  at  will  to  any  noun  to  in- 
dicate '  direction  toward,'  —  and  if  this  had  taken  place, 
-ward  would  have  become  practically  a  case-suffix,  express- 
ing the  'limit  of  motion'  (like  the  Latin  accusative  ending 
in  Romam). 

\^y  these  processes  of  composition  and  abrasion,  then, 
there  grew  up  in  the  Indo-European  family  a  great  number 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF   WORDS  181 

of  inflectional  forms,  indicating  the  relations  of  words 
within  the  sentence,  and  other  general  modifications  of 
word-meaning,  such  as  time,  place,  manner,  and  the  like. 
These  inflections  denoted  three  genders,  eight  or  nine 
cases,  three  numbers,  three  voices,  five  moods,  seven 
tenses  with  three  numbers  and  three  persons. 

These  inflections,  so  far  as  they  were  used  in  verbs, 
began  early,  it  may  be  from  the  very  outset,  to  be  confused 
together,  so  that  they  do  not  all  appear  distinctly  in  any 
Indo-European  tongue.  Thus,  as  we  might  expect  from  the 
shifting  and  occasional  nature  of  speech  itself,  some  forms 
are  wanting  to  a  complete  scheme,  and  many  others  might 
be  imagined,  or  are  found  in  other  families,  which  would 
be  convenient,  but  of  which  there  is  no  trace  among  the 
Indo-Europeans.  Indeed,  the  whole  process  seems  to  have 
gone  on  jjro  re  nata,  a  new  form  being  essayed  only  when 
a  need  was  felt  for  it.  It  should  be  remembered  that  our 
grammatical  paradigms  are  long  subsequent  to  the  forms 
of  which  they  consist,  and  that  the  first  makers  of  gram- 
mar did  not  know  they  had  any  grammar,  any  more  than 
the  makers  of  history  are  aware  that  they  are  making  his- 
tory. Still,  we  must  not  suppose  that  our  inflections  came 
into  being  at  haphazard  or  without  system.  That  perva- 
sive influence  which  we  call  the  S-prachgefi'M  ^  must 
always  have  exerted  a  controlling  effect  on  the  action 
of  the  early  language-makers,  just  as  it  does  upon  us 
to-day. 

It  is  a  significant  fact  that  there  are  many  inflectional 
forms  in  the  Indo-European  family  that  never  seem  to 
have  been  gathered  into  a  scheme  at  all,  but  were  variants 
from  the  first,  though  of  course  these  may  also  be  rem- 
nants   of   a   more    complete    scheme   still.      Such    is   the 

1  See  p.  12G. 


182 


WORDS   AND    THEIR    WAYS 


Sanskrit  -tas,  used  as  an  ablative,  and  we  may  compare 
adverbs  like  thereby,  tlierefrom.  In  general,  adverbs  are 
survivals  of  lost  forms  of  inflection;  but  often  their  orisri- 
nal  form  cannot  be  recognized,  and  there  will  always  be 
reason  for  uncertainty  whether  they  were  ever  real  cases, 
as  is  commonly  supposed. 

Few  inflections  survive  in  ordinary  English :  -s  and  -es 
in  the  genitive  and  the  plural  of  nouns;  -en  in  a  few 
plurals ;  -es  (-s),  -eel  (-f?,  -t)  in  verbs ;  -ing^  -ed,  and  -en  in 
participles,  and  a  few  remnants  in  pronouns,  almost  com- 
plete the  list  of  our  living  inflectional  suffixes.  Yet  the 
earlier  history  of  our  language,  and  comparison  with  other 
Germanic  tongues,  especially  the  Gothic,  a  Germanic  dialect 
which  was  reduced  to  writing  in  the  fourth  century,  re- 
veal the  fact  that  English  belongs  to  a  highly  inflected 
family,  other  members  of  which  are  Sanskrit,  Greek,  Latin, 
and  the  Iranian,  Slavic,  and  Celtic  languages.  Not  only 
has  there  been  a  steady  decay  of  inflections  since  the 
Anglo-Saxon  period,  but  we  find  that  the  language  of  the 
Angles  and  Saxons  themselves  was  already  far  gone  in 
the  same  process.  The  relations  may  be  conveniently  seen 
by  a  comparative  table  of  the  preterite  of  have. 


Gothic 

Indicative 

SINGULAR 

DUAL 

PLURAL 

1st  Person,     habai-da 

habai-dedu 

habai-dedum 

2d         "          habai-des 

habai-deduts 

habai-deduth 

3d         "          habai-da 

habai-dedun 

Stibjunctive  (Optative) 

SINGULA  K 

DUAL 

PLURAL 

1st  Person,     liabai-dedjau 

habai-dedeiva 

habai-dedeima 

2d         "          habai-dedeis 

babai-dedeits 

babai-dedeith 

3d        "          babai-dedi 

habai-dedeina 

THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF    WORDS 


183 


Anglo-Saxon 

Chaucek 

Indicative 

Modern  English 

1.   hjefde 

hadde 

had 

2.    hfefdes(fc) 

haddest 

had 

3.   hfefde 

hadde 

had 

Plural  1,  2,  3.   hfefdoii 

hadde(n) 

had 

Subjunctive 

1.   hsefde 

hadde 

had 

2.   hcefde 

haddest 

had 

later  haefdest 

3.   haefde 

hadde 

had 

Plural  1,  2,  3.    Im 

^fden 

hadde(n) 

had 

Observe  that  the  Anglo-Saxon  has  lost  the  dual  num- 
ber altogether,  and  that  the  subjunctive  forms  differ  very 
slightly  from  the  indicative.  In  Chaucer  the  indicative 
and  the  subjunctive  have  become  identical.  In  modern 
English  the  whole  complicated  system  is  reduced  to  a  single 
form,  had,  which  serves  for  all  the  persons  and  numbers  of 
both  the  indicative  and  subjunctive.  The  contrast  witli 
the  fully  inflected  Gothic  is  startling.  Our  '  Jiad,'  in  the 
preterite,  takes  the  place  of  fifteen  distinct  forms  in  the 
fowth- century  Gothic.  Decay  of  inflections  could  hardly 
go  farther. 

The  development  of  our  family  of  languages,  then,  pro- 
ceeds from  simple  elements  of  vague  meanings  to  an  elabo- 
rate system  of  inflections,  nicely  differentiated  to  express 
a  great  variety  of  ideas  and  relations.  No  sooner  is  this 
great  system  built  up,  however,  than  it  begins  to  go  to 
pieces,  until,  in  our  own  speech,  there  are  scarcely  any 
inflections  remaining.  Tliis  decay,  as  we  have  seen,  may 
coincide  with  an  enormous  advance  in  civilization.  Our 
ancient  relatives,  the  Goths  of  the  fourth  century,  were 
as  much  our  inferiors  in  complexity  of  civilization  as  our 


184  WORDS  AND   THEIE    WAYS 

language  is  inferior  to  theirs  in  complexity  of  inflectional 
forms.  At  first  this  seems  paradoxical,  —  but  only  at  first. 
The  decay  is  merely  formal ;  it  has  in  no  way  impaired  the 
expressive  power  of  our  language.  The  Gotlis  used  fifteen 
distinct  forms  of  have  in  the  preterite,  some  of  them  extend- 
ing to  twelve  letters ;  we  have  a  single  form  had,  three 
letters  in  length,  to  perform  the  functions  of  the  whole 
fifteen.  Yet  this  one  short  form  proves  to  be  entirely 
competent  for  the  task  imposed  upon  it.  There  has  been 
no  loss,  but  an  incalculable  gain,  —  the  gain  involved  in 
accom})lishing  a  given  result  with  an  enormous  economy 
of  effort.  The  apparent  demolition  is  only  the  destruc- 
tion of  a  scaffolding  that  is  useless  after  the  building  is 
finished,  or — to  change  the  figure  —  a  short  cut  adopted 
instead  of  a  roundabout  road  when  the  landmarks  are  so 
well  known  that  there  is  no  fear  of  losing  one's  way. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

THE    DEVELOPMENT    OE    WORDS 
II.     DERIVATION    AND    COMPOSITION 

We  have  already  considered  the  beginnings  of  com- 
position and  derivation,  and  have  observed  that  these 
processes  are  essentially  identical,  and  that  inflection  is 
but  a  special  result  of  their  operations.  The  importance 
of  the  two  processes,  however,  makes  it  necessary  to  study 
them  further,  even  at  the  risk  of  a  certain  amount  of  repe- 
tition. 

The  enormous  system  of  derivational  endings  (like 
-ness,  -ship,  -dom,  -ti/,  -Ii/,  -ish,  -it;  etc.)  which  characterizes 
our  family  of  languages  is  the  result  of  the  slow  operation 
of  the  forces  already  described,  extending  over  thousands 
of  years,  and  acting  in  every  period  of  our  linguistic 
history,  from  the  remote  '  Indo-European '  times  to  the 
present  day.  New  stems  were  made,  as  we  have  seen,  by 
the  addition  of  modifying  forms,  either  verbal  or  pro- 
nominal (chiefly  the  latter),  all  in  themselves  once 
significant. 

The  development  of  the  endings  is  easily  traced  by 
means  of  modern  analogies.  Home-like  is  a  recent  forma- 
tion, both  parts  of  which  are  recognizable  as  independent 
elements  preserving  their  full  significance.  There  is  no 
difference  between  the  word  home-like  and  the  phrase  like 
home.     An  older  homelike,  however,  which  has,  by  decay 

185 


186  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

of  the  second  element,  become  Jiomeli/,  is  no  longer  recog- 
nized as  a  compound,  and  has  acquired  new  meanings  quite 
different  from  those  which  the  full  form  home-like  conveys 
to  our  minds.  The  second  syllable  is  no  longer  felt  as 
an  independent  word.  It  has  become  an  effete  adjective 
suffix  of  wide  application,  —  as  in  riiffiayily^  ghastly^  gliostly^ 
fleshly^  goodly^  comely.  Another  form  of  -like  has  in  a 
similar  way  become  a  universal  termination  for  the  manu- 
facture of  adverbs  from  adjectives, — as  truly.,  beautifully., 
elegantly.,  terribly.,  ivillingly,  and  so  on  ad  infinitum.  All 
the  suffixes  in  our  language  have  a  similar  history.  The 
beginnings  of  the  process,  however,  lie  so  far  back  that 
we  cannot  be  sure  of  the  original  forms  of  many  suffixes; 
and  we  are  certain  that  the  oldest  of  them  lie  within  the 
root  and  stem  period,  and  hence  were  not  words,  but  roots, 
verbal  and  pronominal  (chiefly  the  latter).  But  that  makes 
no  difference  in  the  principle.  The  essence  of  the  matter 
is  that  a  significant  element,  originally  independent,  is 
added  to  auother  element,  and  that,  as  time  goes  on,  the 
second  loses  its  identity  and  comes  to  be  a  mere  deriva- 
tional ending,  widely  applicable  in  the  formation  of  new 
units  of  expression.  After  the  advent  of  inflection,  these 
units  are  no  longer  stems,  but  words,  though  stem-forms 
long  continue  to  be  usable  as  the  material  for  composition 
and  derivation.  Finally,  as  in  English,  all  feeling  for 
stems  disappears,  and  full-fledged  words  are  freely  com- 
pounded. The  tendency  of  the  second  member  to  lose  its 
identity  still  continues,  and  the  production  of  derivational 
suffixes  goes  on. 

Our  language  has  a  huge  number  of  derivational  suf- 
fixes, native  and  borrowed.  Some  of  these  are  still  alive, 
— that  is,  they  may  be  used  at  will  to  make  new  words. 
Such  are  -ly.,  -ness,  -ish,  -y.     Others  are  dead, —  that  is, 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF   WORDS  187 

though  still  felt  as  suffixes,  and  existhig  in  a  considerable 
number  of  words,  they  can  no  longer  be  used  as  formative 
elements.  Thus,  -mit  (a  French  descendant  of  the  Latin 
participial  ending  -ans,  -antis')  is  visible  in  militant^  recal- 
citrant, reluctant,  rampant,  blatant,  and  so  on,  but  we  have 
no  power  to  make  a  new  word  in  -ant.  Contrast  with 
this  the  native  suffix  -in<j,  which  is  fully  alive.  If  a  new 
verb  like  to  railroad  is  manufactured  (see  p.  191),  we  are 
able,  at  will,  to  form  a  noun  from  it,  and  to  speak  of  '  the 
railroading  of  a  bill  through  the  House  of  Representatives.' 

Some  of  our  derivational  suffixes  may  be  traced  back  to 
their  independent  existence  as  words.  Such  are  -dom 
(the  same  as  doom'),  -hood  (A.S.  had,  'station,'  'con- 
dition'), -l>/  ('like').  Most  of  them,  however,  are  known 
only  as  suffixes.  Such  are  -ish,  -ness,  -y,  -tij,  -ing,  -ling, 
•ic,  -ical,  and  many  others. 

New  suffixes  sometimes  arise  from  a  mistake  in  the 
application  of  old  ones,  the  termination  being  cut  off 
behind  its  ears,  as  it  were.  Thus,  having  borrowed  the 
word  habitable  which  is  properly  habita -\- ble  (L.  -bilis},  we 
conceive  the  ending  as  -able  and  make  saleable,  eatable  (cf. 
edible'),  and  bearable.     (See  pp.  293-4.) 

The  development  of  prefixes  is  parallel  to  that  of 
suffixes;  but  the  number  of  genuine  prehxes  is  much 
smaller.  Most  of  the  prefixes  now  in  use  were  really 
independent  words  associated  syntactically  with  verbs 
after  the  beginning  of  the  inflectional  period  (see  p.  188). 
Of  living  prefixes  mi-,  re-,  out-,  semi-,  and  half-,  may  be 
specially  noted. 

Besides  the  old  stem-compounds  and  the  word-com- 
pounds that  are  their  descendants  or  collateral  relatives, 
there  are  also  many  compounds  which  belong  to  a  later 
stage   of   linguistic    development,  being    formed   by    the 


188  WOBDS  ANU    THEIR    WAYS 

growing  together  of  phrases  or  syntactic  complexes.  Of 
this  kind  are  all  verbs  compounded  with  prepositions  or 
similar  particles.  These  prefixes  were  originally  adverbs, 
which,  from  being  habitually  used  with  verbs,  have  become 
necessary  to  the  sense,  and  have  accordingly  united  with 
the  verb  to  make  a  single  unit.  Thus  we  have  the  native 
verbs  undergo^  outdo^  forego,  ivithstand,  etc.,  besides  a  very 
larefe  number  of  similar  formations  borrowed  from  Latin 
or  French:  as,  —  transce7id,  admit,  deter,  depose,  adjoin. 
The  Greek  has  furnished  us  with  a  good  many  words  of 
similar  character,  —  hiipo-crite,  Jigper-pJiosj^hite,  meta-thesis, 
and  so,  in  a  less  degree,  of  other  languages. 

Native  phrase-compounds  are  beside  (for  hy-side'),  he- 
times  (for  hy-times'),  undershot,  overlord,  outlaw,  outdoor, 
and  so  on.  We  may  compare  meanivldle,  meantime,  hence- 
forth, forthright,  toivards,  offhand,  throughout,  wherewith, 
therein,  himself,  oftentimes,  somewhere,^  someivhat,  everybody, 
nobody,  and  many  others,  originally  phrases,  and  still  easily 
taken  apart.  Longer  examples  are  rough-and-ready,  ivell- 
to-do,  matter-of-fact,  tooth  and  nail,  devil-may-care,  through 
and  through,  by-and-by,  inside  out,  and  so  on, — some  of 
which  are  still  felt  as  phrases  rather  than  as  single  com- 
pound words.  So  we  use  the  old  greeting  'Hail,  fellow, 
well-met ! '  (^i.e.  '  Health  to  you,  companion  !  Glad  to  meet 
you!')  as  an  adjective  to  describe  one  who  is  familiar 
with  everybody  he  falls  in  with.  We  may  even  attach 
derivative  suffixes  to  long  phrase  compounds,  as  in  lacka- 
daisical (from  lack-a-daisy,  an  elaborated  form  of  lach-a- 
day,  i.e.  alack-a-day),^  alamodeness  (William  Penn),  and 

1  The  provincial  some-place  for  somewhere  (as  in  '  I  have  seen  him 
some-place ')  shows  how  strongly  somevihere  is  felt  as  a  phrase  rather  than 
as  a  single  word. 

2  Alack  is  doubtless  ah  !  lack !  the  second  word  being  used  in  the 
obsolete  sense  of  '  misfoi'tune.' 


THE  DEVELOPMENT   OF   WOIiDS  189 

the  colloquial  monstrosities  get-at-able  and  go-aliead-itive- 
ness. 

If  the  phrase  is  very  old,  its  component  parts  may  bo 
no  longer  recognizable,  and  we  have  a  simple  word,  not  a 
compound  at  all.  Thus  wassail  is  the  Anglo-Saxon  wes 
half  'be  well!'  a  sentence  used  in  drinking  healths. 
The  same  result  is  often  produced  when  a  foreign  phrase 
is  adopted  into  English.  Aid-de-ca7?ip,  bas-relief,  belles 
lettres,  embonpoint,  extempore,  locum  tenens  (whence  lieu- 
tenanf),  are  still  felt  as  phrases  or  phrase-compounds ; 
but  alarm,  carouse,  jeopardy,  kickshaws,  and  hoax  are 
not  so  recognized  except  by  the  etj-mologist.  Alarm 
(Fr.  alarme)  is  the  Italian  call  'to  arms  I  '  (alV  arme!). 
Carouse  is  the  German  garaus!  'quite  out!'  i.e.  'empty 
your  glass. '1  Jeopardy  (in  Chaucer,  jupartie~)  is  Fr.  jeii 
parti,  'even  (^literally,  divided)  game,'  i.e.  a  game  in 
which  the  chances  are  equal.  From  the  noun  we  have 
formed  a  verb,  to  jeopardize.  Kickshaivs  is  a  corruption  of 
Fr.  quelque  chose,  'something';  it  was  at  first  singular 
(plural,  kickshaivses}.  Hoax,  which  was  formerly  slang, 
and  is  still  undignified,  though  accepted  into  the  legiti- 
mate vocabulary,  is  a  shortening  of  hocus  pocus.  So  is  to 
hocus,  for  'to  drug.'  Hocus  pocus  seems  to  be  a  bit  of 
juggler's  mock  Latin,  —  a  fragment  of  a  longer  formula 
used  by  a  particular  magician  in  the  seventeenth  century. 

A  peculiar  form  of  phrase-composition  is  found  in  nu- 
merous words  consisting  of  a  verb  and  its  object  used  as 
names,  more  commonly  of  an  abusive  character.  Some  of 
these  look  like  imperative  phrases  used  in  ironical  address. 
At  any  rate,  the  category  must  have  originated  in  quota- 
tion.    This  is  seen  from  the  peculiar  relation  of  the  two 

'^Carouse  came  to  us  through  the  French  carons  (later  carronsst), 
whence  the  form  of  the  English  word. 


190  irOBDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

parts.  Tlius,  a  spendthrift  is  a  person  who  spends  what 
others  have  saved ;  so  telltale,  do-nothing^  neer-do-well, 
dreadnaught,  daredevil,  sinr/sonr/,  killjoy,  makeshift,  turn- 
coat, catchpoll,  holdback,  holdfast,  Johnny -jump -up  (the 
name  of  a  flower),  forget-me-not.  We  may  compare  the 
subjunctive  phrase-compounds  hit  or  miss,  live  or  die,  evilly 
nilly,  used  adverbially.  Here  again,  as  usual,  slang  is 
very  fertile:  as,  kiss  me  quick,  hug  me  tight,  follow  me  lads, 
names  for  articles  of  female  attire.  The  distinctive  mark 
of  these  is  that  they  have  a  verb  and  an  object,  so  that 
they  must  not  be  confounded  with  a  few  others  which  are 
like  them,  but  can  hardly  be  quotations,  such  as  catch- 
basin,  turnstile,  7'amrod.  These  seem  to  arise  from  a 
confusion  between  noun  and  verb  in  the  first  member. 
Words  like  go-bettoeeji  and  hangdog  are  somewhat  doubt- 
ful. 

A  curious  tendency  of  our  language  is  that  of  making 
virtual  new  compounds  of  verbs  and  prepositions  without 
actual  union,  not  unlike  the  separative  compounds  in 
Homer.  This  shows  itself  in  neuter  (intransitive)  verbs, 
which  become  capable  of  having  a  passive  by  taking  up 
the  j)reposition  which  properly  governs  the  following 
case.  Thus  one  might  speak  to  a  womati,  in  which  case 
we  should  say  that  to  governed  ivoman,  but  it  would  not 
be  surprising  if  the  woman  should  complain  of  being 
spoken  to  in  the  street.  So  an  adversary  may  l)e  reckoned 
ivith,  a  book  quoted  from,  a  house  lived  in,  a  divinity  sworn 
by,  a  man  run  through,  or  ru7i  over,  or  stared  at,  or 
despaired  of,  or  talked  about,  or  looked  after.  A  doctrine 
may  be  fought  against.  An  argument  may  be  insisted  on, 
or  lost  sight  of,  and  in  newspaper  English,  an  opportunity 
may  be  availed  of.  Not  all  sorts  of  such  combinations  can 
be  made,  for  nothing  is  so  freaky  as  language  in  new  for- 


THE  DEVELOPMEXT   OE   WORDS  191 

mations  ])y  analogy,  but  many  have  become  good  English, 
and  the  number  is  increasing.  Perhaps  the  future  anti- 
quarian will  revive  the  figure  '  tmesis '  to  account  for  the 
separation  of  the  verb  from  its  preposition  in  these  cases  ! 

The  almost  entire  loss  of  inflections  in  English  has 
brought  about  a  curious  result  in  the  possibilities  of  our 
language,  namely,  the  free  interchangeableness  of  verb  and 
noun.  The  tendency  in  this  direction  is  visible  very  early 
in  our  family  of  languages;  but,  so  long  as  inflections  exist, 
a  verb  must  be  distinguished  from  a  noun  by  some  ter- 
mination. Hence,  though  the  change  of  noun  to  verb  has 
been  a  universal  want,  yet  it  had  to  be  accomplished  by 
means  of  a  system  of  derivative  suffixes  gradually  adapted 
to  the  purpose,  and  so  in  like  manner  of  the  change  from 
verb  to  noun.  Indeed,  so  common  have  these  changes 
and  parallelisms  been,  that  in  some  cases  one  of  the  mem- 
bers has  been  supplied  by  a  false  analogy.  Thus  in 
French  almost  all  verbs  in  -er  have  (or  once  had)  a 
corresponding  noun  in  -e  :  as  voyager,  voyage;  menagei\ 
menage^  and  the  like.  Hence,  couclier  (L.  col-locare)  not 
having  a  noun  to  match  inasmuch  as  the  noun  (Joms)  was 
never  compounded  with  con-^  one  was  made,  out  of  hand, 
to  correspond  with  the  others.  Thus  the  French  have  the 
noun  couche^  whence  our  couch  is  borrowed.  As  it  hap- 
pens, this  proceeding  gives  a  curious  combination.  The 
Latin  locus  became  lieu  in  French  (a  word  which  we  have 
borrowed),  so  that  couch  and  lieu  are  cognates,  though 
they  have  only  a  single  letter  in  common. 

When  inflections  are  lost,  as  in  English,  there  is  noth- 
ing to  distinguish  the  form  of  verb  and  noun.  Hence 
any  noun  or  adjective  can  at  once  become  a  verb  if  em- 
ployed as  such,  and  conversely  almost  any  verb  may  be 
used  to  express  the  idea  of  its  action  or  result. 


192  WOEBS   AND   THEIR    WAYS 

Thus  we  have  to  cudfjel^  to  ijowder^  to  oil.,  to  pipe  (for 
gas),  to  ivall  in,  to  hrick  up.,  to  hell  (the  cat),  to  metal^  to 
provision,  to  n'ood  and  water,  to  color,  to  yelloiv,  to  black, 
to  serenade,  to  paper,  to  match,  to  fire,  to  fringe,  to  cover  (a 
hook),  to  letter,  to  carpet,  to  coach,  to  tutor,  to  gum,  to  ground, 
to  varnish,  to  hedge  ahout,  to  man,  to  chaperon,  to  people,  to 
tar,  to  plane,  to  counterfeit.  Indeed,  a  whole  phrase  may 
be  used  as  a  verb  :  to  blackball,  to  copperbottom,  mastheaded. 
Conversely  are  found  the  nouns  :  a  (■'ell,  a  pidl  up,  a  set- 
back, a  walk-over,  an  upper  cut,  a  hiock-doiv7i,  a  run-over, 
a  spin,  a  hit ;  and  many  such  terms  are  used  even  in  literar}'- 
English.  In  general,  however,  we  are  not  so  free  in  using 
verbs  as  nouns,  as  in  using  nouns  as  verbs.  Our  inclina- 
tion is  rather  to  have  recourse  to  derivation  by  means  of 
nominal  suffixes  (as  in  starvatio7i  from  starve,  and  the 
countless  noun-formations  in  -ing~),  or  to  employ  a  ready- 
made  synonym  from  our  enormous  stock  of  borrowed  words 
(as  to  climb,  ascent ;  to  break,  fracture').  Thus  every  part 
of  our  complicated  vocabulary  works  together  in  perfect 
harmony  in  the  expression  of  thought  in  all  its  varieties. 


CHAPTER   XV 

FOSSILS 

A  LANGUAGE  which  is  not  ^iven  to  borrowing  foreign 
elements,  but  develops  its  vocabulary  out  of  its  native 
resources,  makes  an  immediate  impression  of  consistency. 
In  such  a  language  the  same  inflectional  and  derivative 
endings  are  almost  universally  applicable,  and  composi- 
tion o-oes  on  in  accordance  with  fixed  linguistic  habits. 
The  formative  processes  are  therefore  almost  sure  to  yield 
words  of  like  character  and  sound.  And,  though  phonetic 
decay  works  incessantly  to  alter  the  form  of  a  language, 
yet  the  habits  of  speech  are  so  regular  and  the  associative 
forces  so  strong,  that  words  when  they  change  are  likely 
to  go  in  groups  or  classes,  so  that  they  retain  the  same 
similarity  of  sound  to  each  other,  though  the  sound  itself 
may  be  altered  bej^ond  recognition. 

In  an  omnivorous  language  like  English  the  same  forces 
work,  though  with  slightly  less  energy.  Words  are  bor- 
rowed in  blocks,  as  it  were,  or  —  what  amounts  to  the 
same  thing  —  one  after  another  in  the  same  line  merely 
because  a  similar  word  has  been  borrowed  before.  We 
have  many  long-tailed  Latin  words  in  -osity  and  -ation, 
not  because  they  are  peculiarly  adapted  to  our  tongue, 
but  because,  having  found  a  use  for  a  number  of  them,  the 
language  is  impelled  to  borrow  more  to  match  those  it  has 
already.  Notice  also  the  huge  quantity  of  verbs  in  -ate 
(adapted  from  Latin  past  participles  in  -nfus).  The  ten- 
o  193 


194  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

dency  is  helped  by  the  subtle  association  between  sound 
and  meaning  which  manifests  itself  in  rhyme,  alliteration, 
assonance,  and  so  on,  ever  attempting  to  assimilate  to  each 
other  words  which  have  a  similar  sense,  or  to  give  a  simi- 
lar sense  to  words  that  resemble  each  other  in  sound. 
Two  examples  will  make  this  clear :  — 

Citizen  and  denizen  are  old  synonyms  which  have  influ- 
enced each  other's  form.  Citizen  is  O.  Fr.  citeain'^  (from 
L.  civitas)  ;  the  unoriginal  z  makes  its  first  appearance 
in  Anclo-French  and  is  borrowed  from  denizeii,  which  is 
0.  Fr.  denzein  or  deinzein  (from  denz,  '  within,'  modern 
dam').     Denizen,  in  its  turn,  has  taken  its  i  from  citizen. 

Restive  and  restless  are  etymologically  unrelated.  Their 
similarity  of  form  is  quite  accidental.  Restive  is  from 
L.  restare,  'to  stand  back,'  'to  hang  back,'  and  means 
properly  'unwilling  to  go  forward.'  Restless  is  from 
A.S.  rest,  and  means  'refusing  to  stand  still.'  Yet  the 
similarity  of  sound  has  so  brought  the  words  together  in 
our  consciousness  that  restive  has,  in  common  speech, 
become  a  synonym  for  restless,  which  is  properly  almost 
its  express  opposite.^ 

The  tendencies  which  we  have  considered  operate  to 
keep  the  parts  of  a  language  together,  so  that  words  and 
forms  do  not  stand  each  by  itself,  but  make  larger  or 
smaller  groups  pretty  firmly  bound  together  in  our  con- 
sciousness. 

But  there  is  at  the  same  time  a  strong  counter-influence. 
Thought  is  constantly  tending  to  individualize  this  or  that 
expression  by  ascribing  to  it  an  idea  or  a  function  which 
is  not  shared  by  the  other  members  of  its  group.     Thus  it 

1  Modern  citoyen.     The  ending  -ain  is  L.  -anus. 

2  The  error  is  assisted,  no  doubt,  by  the  fact  that  a  ballsy  or  '  restive' 
horse  is  in  fact  also  '  restless,'  i.e.  nervous  and  uneasy. 


FOSSILS  195 

often  happens  that  a  word  which  was  one  of  a  thousand, 
or  a  form  which  was  universal,  becomes  isolated.  Dis- 
sociated from  its  fellows,  it  ceases  to  share  their  future 
destiny.  If  they  perish,  it  does  not  perish  with  them. 
Nor  is  its  preservation  assisted  by  their  survival.  It  may 
become  the  centre  of  a  new  group.  Or  it  may  remain 
isolated,  —  embedded,  as  it  were,  in  amber,  and  lost  or 
preserved  to  future  ages,  not  as  one  of  the  swarm  Ijut  with 
the  individuality  of  a  fossil. 

English  abounds  in  such  fossils,  and  they  are  of  every 
conceivable  kind.  Sometimes  a  word  or  a  meaning  has 
become  obsolete  except  in  an  idiom  or  two,  which,  how- 
ever, are  still  in  common  use.  Again,  an  old  construction, 
once  widespread,  has  died  out  in  general,  but  still  lingers 
in  a  few  phrases.  So  also  an  old  grammatical  form  may 
occasionally  survive,  because  it  has  become  petrified,  as  it 
were,  in  a  single  expression  or  a  small  group  of  words. 

A  considerable  number  of  survivals  will  now  be  studied. 
We  may  begin  with  certain  old  forms  or  constructions 
that  often  excite  unnecessary  scruples  in  the  minds  of 
speakers  who  are  nervous  about  their  grammar. 

Whilom,  '  in  former  days,'  '  quondam,'  is  familiar  to 
every  one  as  an  archaic  adverb.  It  happens  to  be  the 
only  word  in  the  language  that  preserves  the  universal 
Anglo-Saxon  -um  of  the  dative  plural.  In  the  gradual 
simplification  of  language,  -um  went  out  of  use,  so  that 
to-day  there  is  no  special  form  for  the  case  which  it  rep- 
resented. Meantime,  the  form  hwilum  (from  hivll,  'while,' 
'  time '),  which  meant  '  at  times,'  had  become  petrified  in 
the  sense  of  '  formerly,'  and  consequently  the  decay  of 
inflections  did  not  affect  it.  It  was  not  conceived  as  the 
dative  case  of  a  noun,  but  simply  as  an  adverb.  Our  con- 
junctive while  is  the  accusative  singular  of  the  same  word ; 


196  WOEDS  AND   TBEin    WAYS 

and  whiles  (of  which  ivhilst  is  a  corruption)  is  an  adverbial 
genitive.  Most  adverbs,  in  all  the  languages  of  our  family, 
have  originated  in  case-forms. \ 

The  adverb  needs,  'necessarily,'  is  another  interesting- 
survival.  There  were  a  number  of  Anglo-Saxon  adverbs 
formed  by  means  of  the  genitive  ending  -es,  and  these 
multiplied  in  the  Middle  English  period.  Tlie  proper 
genitive  of  A.S.  ned  was  nede,  and  this,  as  well  as  7iedes, 
was  used  adverbially.  In  Middle  English  nede  und  7iedes 
were  used  indifferently.  In  Modern  English,  nede  is  quite 
dead,  and  many  of  the  old  adverbs  in  -es  have  also  perished. 
Needs,  however,  still  remains  as  an  apparently  anomalous 
formation,  commonly  attached  to  miist,  as  in  the  well- 
known  proverb.  Other  examples  of  the  same  construc- 
tion are  nights  and  d,ays  in  such  expressions  as  '  Do  you 
sit  up  late  nights  f  '•  What  do  you  do  dai/s?''  Here  nights 
and  dags  are  old  adverbial  genitives  meaning  ■■  by  night,' 
'by  day';  but  they  are  felt  as  plurals  by  most  speakers, 
even  by  those  who  know  better,  and  hence  a  tendency  to 
regard  them  as  incorrect  has  grown  up.^  In  England,  the 
idiom  '  early  dags '  is  still  used,  as  '  It  is  ea7'lg  dags  to  tell 
what  will  come  of  this ' ;  in  America,  however,  it  is  seldom 
heard,  though  *  early  in  the  day '  is  common. 

Once,  twice,  and  thrice  are  likewise  adverbial  genitives, 
though  their  formation  is  disguised  by  the  spelling.  In 
Chaucer  they  are  spelt  07ies,  twges,  thrges,  which  at  once 
makes  their  origin  clear.  The  vulgar  Hues  for  lief,  as  in 
'■  I  had  just  as  lives  do  it '  shows  the  same  formation.  So 
ivhilst  for  whiles  (see  p.  105),  which  has  the  excrescent 
t  seen  in  amidst  (for  amiddes),  amongst  (for  amonges), 

1  See  p.  182. 

2  Compare  also  sueh  expressions  as  '  He  always  comes  Tuesdays  '  (for 
which  '  of  a  Tuesday '  is  often  heard) ;  '  Where  do  you  go  iisinters  ? ' 


FOSSILS  197 

against  (tor  ageynes)^  the  obsolete  alongst  (for  alonges)^ 
and  the  vulgar  oust  and  tivieet  (for  owce  and  twice). ^ 

Since  is  a  curious  instance  of  the  same  adverbial  -es. 
The  Anglo-Saxon  had  sith'than  (cf.  Ger.  seitdem),  com- 
pounded of  sUh,  '  afterwards,'  literally  '  later  '  (akin  to  Ger. 
seit'),  and  t/ion,  an  instrumental  case  of  that.  SitJithan  be- 
came sithen-es  in  Middle  English,  and  this  was  shortened 
to  sitlience  and  since.  The  spelling  in  ce  was  intended 
(as  in  07ice,  tivice,  thrice')  to  prevent  the  pronunciation  sinz 
(as  in  the  plural  of  sin).  Hence  and  thence  are  also  for 
hennes  and  thennes. 

Nonce  is  a  curious  fossil  word,  occurring  only  in  the 
single  phrase  for  the  7io)ice,  '  for  the  occasion,'  '  for  the 
time  being.'  The  n  of  7io7ice  really  belongs  to  the  preced- 
ing word,  so  that  the  phrase  was  formerly  for  the7i  07iee. 
The7i  is  a  corruption  of  an  old  dative  form  (no  longer 
used)  of  the  demonstrative  that?  so  that /or  tlie  7ionce  means 
literally  'for  that  one  time.'  The  transference  of  ?i  from 
the  end  of  then  to  the  beginning  of  07ice  is  parallel  to  what 
we  often  see  in  the  case  of  the  article  an.,  when  followed 
by  a  noun  beginning  with  a  vowel.  Thus  children  say 
a  7iapple  instead  of  aw  apple.,  and  then  sometimes,  regard- 
ing 7iapple  as  the  name  of  the  fruit,  tJte  7iapple.  So  the 
7iage7it  is  sometimes  heard  for  the  age7it.  These  two  forms, 
napple  and  7iagent.,  have  not  established  themselves  in  the 
language,  but  many  other  forms  originally  quite  as  incor- 
rect have  come  in  from  the  same  tendency.  Thus  neivt 
owes  its  n  to  a  preceding  article  an.     The  Anglo-Saxon 

1  The  adverbial -es  occurs  also  in  -vmrds  (totvards,  upioards,  etc.), 
ahoays,  algates  (perhaps  originally  a  plural),  besides,  betimes,  there- 
abouts, hereabouts.  Someioheres  and  noioJieres,  thougli  not  in  good  use, 
illustrate  the  strength  of  the  tendency. 

-The  adverb  then  (really  the  same  \Yortl  as  than)  is  another  formation 
from  the  same  pronominal  stem. 


198  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

efete  is  also  preserved  as  eft  and  evet.  Conversely,  in  a 
number  of  words,  an  n  which  properly  belongs  to  the 
noun,  lixis  parted  company  with  it  and  joined  the  preced- 
ing article,  thus  depriving  the  noun  of  its  first  letter. 
Adder,  for  example,  was  originally  nadder ;  apron  was 
naprou  (Fr.  napperon');  mnplre  was  originally  nomper 
(O.  Fr.,  from  L.  nonpar,  'not  equal,'  that  is,  'odd,'  the 
umpire  being  the  'odd  man'  who  decides  a  dispute). ^ 

Our  yore  is  descended  from  an  Anglo-Saxon  adverb  in 
-a,  gear  a,  really  the  genitive  plural  of  gear,  'year.'  Soon 
was  8dna  in  Anglo-Saxon,  and  was  felt  as  belonging  to 
the  same  class  as  geara.  In  fact,  however,  the  -a  in  sona 
is  not  a  termination,  but  a  decayed  remnant  of  a  noun 
meaning  'time.'  Both  a's  became  weakened  to  -e,  and  in 
Chaucer  we  have  yore  and  soone.  In  Modern  English  the 
adverbs  appear  to  have  no  ending,  since  the  final  e  has 
•  disappeared.  2 

There  are  many  adverbs  in  modern  Engiisli  which  have 
no  ending,  but  are  identical  in  form  with  the  correspond- 
ing adjectives.  Such  are  fa^it,  slow,  quick,  cheap,  sound 
(in  'to  sleep  sound'),  Idgh,  lotv,  still,  and  the  like.  These 
give  the  young  grammarian  much  trouble,  and  he  is  seldom 
assisted  by  his  school-books,  which  usually  inform  him 
(erroneously)  that  such  words  are  'adjectives  used  as 
adverbs.'  There  is  even  a  tendency  to  banish  them  from 
the  language,  just  as  had  better  is  stigmatized  by  many  as 

1  A  very  learned  and  equally  interesting  study  of  '  English  Words 
which  have  gained  or  lost  an  Initial  Consonant  by  Attraction,'  by  Dr. 
Charles  V.  G.  Scott,  may  be  found  in  the  Transactions  of  the  American 
Philological  Association  for  1892,  XXIII,  179-:305. 

-  Disappeared,  that  is,  in  speech.  The  fact  that  we  write  an  e  at  the 
end  of  yore  is  neither  here  nor  there.  This  -e  is  simply  a  graphic  sign  to 
indicate  the  length  of  the  preceding  vowel.  It  is  no  more  an  ending  than 
a  long  mark  over  the  a  would  be.  In  Chaucer's  time,  on  the  contrary, 
the  final  c  was  a  sound. 


FOSSILS  199 

an  impropriety.  In  fact,  however,  these  words  are  merely 
the  survivors  of  a  large  class  of  adverbs  in  -e,  and  it  is  the 
disappearance  of  this  adverbial  termination  (in  common 
with  all  weak  final  e's  in  our  language)  that  makes  them 
coincide  in  form  with  the  adjectives  from  which  they  are 
derived.  Not  all  of  our  'flat  adverbs'  actually  go  back 
to  such  -e  forms,  since  analogy  has  brought  new  ones  into 
existence,  and  a  few  (like  ri^/I/t  and  fuU}  are  really  old 
adjectives  used  in  an  adverbial  construction.  However 
derived,  the  '  flat  adverbs '  are  an  ancient  and  dignified 
part  of  our  language,  and  the  pedantry  which  discounte- 
nances them  is  not  to  be  encouraged.  Still,  one  must 
admit  that  such  pedantry  itself  obeys  a  natural  linguistic 
law,  —  the  tendency  to  associate  particular  endings  with 
particular  syntactic  functions.  Most  English  adverbs  of 
manner  do  end  in  -I//  (a  decayed  form  of  -lice,  'like '),  and 
the  feeling  that  such  a  termination  is  indispensable  is  easy 
to  understand.  But  until  the  language  has  actually  shown 
some  disposition  to  reject  the  '  flat  adverbs,'  it  is  pedantic 
to  attempt  to  put  them  under  a  ban. 

Fro,  an  Old  Norse  form,  once  common  as  a  preposition 
(as  in  fro  the  fire,  fro  the  land),  has  gone  out  of  use,  except 
in  a  single  adverbial  phrase,  to  and  fro. 

The  adverb  ar/o  is  really  the  same  as  agone,  the  past  par- 
ticiple of  ago(n),  'to  go  on,'  'depart.'  Thus  'six  years 
ago''  is  literally  'six  years  having  elapsed.' 

Elder  and  eldest  are  the  regular  ancient  comparative 
and  superlative  of  old  (which,  like  Cier.  alt,  shows  the 
umlaut,  or  change  of  vowel,  in  the  comparative  and 
superlative).  Elder  and  eldest  have  been  almost  univer- 
sally replaced  by  older  and  oldest,  —  new  formations  made 
directly  from  old,  and  keeping  the  same  vowel  as  the 
positive.     Other  ancient  forms  showing  the  same  vowel- 


200  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

change  are  strenger  and  strengest  from  strong^  and  lenger 
and  lengest  from  long;  but  these  have  disappeared  from 
the  Language.  Elder  and  eldest  survive  because  they  were 
so  often  employed  in  special  family  phrases,  elder  brother^ 
eldest  son,  and  the  like,  and  they  are  almost  entirely  con- 
fined to  this  use.  Elder  has  also  survived  as  a  noun  in 
a  special  sense. 

Near  and  7iext  show  a  similar  umlaut.  They  are  really 
the  comparative  and  superlative  of  the  adjective  nigh 
(A.S.  neali),  but  they  are  no  longer  associated  with  nigh 
in  our  consciousness.  They  survive  as  indeiDcndent  words. 
Near  has  become  a  positive,  and  a  new  comparative  has 
been  formed  from  it,  —  nearer,  which  really  shows  a 
double  comparative  ending.  Far,  which  we  also  feel  as 
a  positive,  was  originally  in  the  comparative  degree. 
There  has  always  been  a  tendency  to  use  comparatives 
as  positives,  and  so  to  accumulate  endings  of  comparison. 
Thus  farther  shows  two  such  endings,  an'd  the  children's 
word  fartherer  shows  three.  (The  th  in  these  words  results 
from  a  confusion  with  further,  which  is  really  a  compara- 
tive oi  forth.')  The  accumulation  of  comparative  endings 
in  successive  periods  of  our  family  of  languages  is  well 
illustrated  in  nethermost.  The  Indo-European  had  a  par- 
ticle m,  meaning 'down.'  This  is  seen  in  L.  ni-dus  and 
in  the  first  two  letters  of  nest,  the  last  two  (^sf)  being  a 
clipped  form  of  *sed6-z,  '  sitting  place '  (connected  with 
sit,  set,  and  akin  to  L.  sedeo).  This  ni  appears  in  Anglo- 
Saxon  in  the  comparative  nith-er  and  the  superlative 
nithemest,  where  the  -th  is  an  old  comparative  ending. 
Nithemest  has  the  superlative  ending  -mest,  itself  a  union  of 
a  superlative  ending  -mo  (seen  in  L.  pri-mus,  '  foremost ') 
and  the  familiar  -st  (-esf)  ending  (seen  in  fi7'st,  latest). 
This  -mest  ending  was   subsequently   confused  with    the 


FOSSILS  201 

English  7nost,  wliicli  itself  lias  the  same  -st  but  is  from 
the  root  found  in  L.  magis  and  major.     Thus  7iether7nost 

has  at  least  four  endings  denoting  comparison, th,  -er, 

-mo,  and  -st.  ]\Iany  other  ancient  forms  are  similarly  ac- 
cumulative, for  tautology  is  an  ineradicable  tendency  of 
language.  The  so-called  double  comparison,  now  vulgar, 
but  formerly  in  good  use,  illustrates  the  point.  Every- 
body remembers  instances  enough  in  Shakspere :  '  his 
7no7'e  braver  daughter,'  'the  7nost  zmkindest  cut  of  all.' 

Alive  is  a  singular  example  of  a  fossil  form.  It  is 
descended  from  the  Anglo-Saxon  oti  life  (pronounced  07i 
leeve},  'in  life.'  Life  was  the  dative  form,  llf  the  nomi- 
native. At  the  end  of  a  word,  /  was  pronounced  as  we  pro- 
nounce it.  Between  two  vowels  it  was  pronounced  like  v. 
The  final  e  was  the  dative  ending.  This  dative  ending 
disappeared  from  the  language  long  ago,  but  before  its 
disappearance  07i-live  or  alive  (for  the  a  is  merely  a  clipped 
form  of  oil)  had  become  established  as  an  independent 
word ;  hence  the  z;-sound,  which  owed  its  existence  only 
to  the  dative  ending  e,  remained.  When  we  say  alive, 
then,  we  are  in  a  manner  preserving  the  Anglo-Saxon 
dative;  otherwise,  we  should  say  alife.  In  abed,  which  is 
also  descended  from  a  dative  (on  bedde),  the  modern 
word  shows  no  remnant  of  inflection ;  for  the  ending  e 
had  no  effect  on  the  preceding  d,  and  when  the  e  disap- 
peared, it  left  no  trace  behind  it. 

Down  to  very  recent  times  the  use  of  7/ear  as  a  plural 
was  extremely  common,  and  it  is  still  heard  in  careless 
or  colloquial  language.  It  is  not  a  corruption,  but  a  sur- 
vival. Indeed,  from  the  historical  point  of  view,  it  is  a 
better  form  than  years.  Year,  in  Anglo-Saxon,  belonged 
to  a  class  of  nouns  which  took  no  endinsf  in  the  nomina- 
tive  and  accusative  plural.     In  Middle  English,  the  dif- 


202  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

ferences  between  the  old  declensions  broke  down,  so  that 
nearly  all  plurals  came  to  be  formed  by  means  of  the 
ending  -es  (A.S.  -as).  Thus,  yeeres  was  soon  substituted 
for  yeer,  but  the  older  yeer  was  still  used.  In  Chaucer, 
for  example,  both  forms  are  common.  Compare  te7i  pound, 
six  mile,  three  foot,  and  other  expressions  of  measure, 
formerly  correct,  but  now  regarded  as  colloquial  or 
vulgar.  Stone,  however,  as  a  weight,  has  never  been 
superseded  by  stones. 

The,  in  such  sentences  as  '  The  harder  he  tries,  the  less 
successful  he  is,'  is  not  the  definite  article,  but  the  instru- 
mental case  of  the  demonstrative  pronoun  that,  like  the 
Latin  'ablative  of  degree  of  difference.'  In  the  sentence 
just  quoted,  the  first  the  is  a  relative,  the  second  a  demon- 
strative, for  that  had  both  functions  in  Anglo-Saxon,  as  it 
has  to-day.  Thus,  '  the  more  .  .  .  the  less '  is  exactly 
equivalent  to  the  Latin  quo  ^nayia  .  .  .  eo  minus.  The 
instrumental  case  of  that  survives  in  Modern  English  in 
this  idiom  only.  Another  petrified  instrumental  is  why, 
wliich  is  really  a  form  of  tlie  interrogative  pronoun  ivho, 
what. 

The  pronominal  ''em,  'm,  um  of  rapid  speech  is  usually 
felt  as  a  fragment  of  them,  but  is,  in  fact,  quite  a  different 
word.  It  is  the  Anglo-Saxon  heom  (ov  him'),  Chaucer's 
hem,  the  regular  dative  plural  of  he.  Them  (Anglo-Saxon 
thwrn),  on  the  contrary,  was  not  the  personal  pronoun.  It 
was  the  dative  plural  of  the  demonstrative  that.  The 
Scandinavians  used  their  form  of  this  demonstrative 
{theim^  as  a  personal  pronoun,  and  it  was  partly  under 
this  influence  that  a  similar  usage  of  them  sprang  up  in 
English,  but  did  not  extend  to  Chaucer's  dialect.  Their 
is  the  Old  Norse  genitive  plural  theira;  the  Anglo-Saxons 
used  hira  (Chaucer's  hire,  here'),  also  from  he.     The  vari- 


FOSSILS  203 

ation  between  Chaucer  and  Modern  English  in  the  matter 
of  their  and  them  is  one  sign  that  our  literary  language  is 
of  a  somewhat  more  northern  character  than  his  dialect. ^ 

The  pronoun  thee  has  gone  out  of  use  entirely,  except 
dialectically,  or  in  the  poetical  or  solemn  style.  It  still 
survives  in  the  colloquial  thank" ee.  Compare  the  vulgar 
don't-ee  often  heard  in  England,  but  probably  never  in  the 
United  States.  Prithee  is  now  poetical,  but  was  once 
extremely  popular. 

An  old  ending  -en  (akin  to  L.  -Imis'^  in  serpentinus, 
'snaky')  produced  a  number  of  'adjectives  of  material': 
as,  golden^  leaden.,  brazen,  tvoode)i,  earthen.  These  have 
decreased  in  number,  and  some  of  those  which  survive  are 
poetical  or  figurative.  The  modern  habit  in  such  cases  is 
to  use  the  noun  itself  as  an  adjective.  Thus,  we  say  'a 
gold  watch,'  but  '■golden  hair.'  Wooden  and  earthen, 
however,  are  still  common  in  the  literal  prosaic  use.  In 
the  case  of  the  participial  ending  -en,  once  universal  in 
strong  verbs,  there  is  great  diversity.  Most  of  the  old 
participles  have  lost  the  termination  :  as,  sung,  hung,  spim, 
found,  bound.  But  others  have  kept  it :  as,  stolen,  born, 
ridden.  There  is  a  tendency  to  retain  the  forms  in 
-en  as  adjectives,  even  when  the  participles  are  commonly 
shortened.  Thus,  dnmJcen,  sodden,  swollen,  '■iW-gotten 
gains,'  '■cloven  foot,'  'a  riven  oak,'  'that  labor  and  are 
heavy-?ac?e?i,'  'all  shaven  and  shorn,'  ^shrunken  cheeks.' 
Hence  the  anomalous  boughten,  as  opposed  to  home-inade. 
The  old  adjectives  of  material  in  -en  may  possibly  have 
assisted  here. 

1  See  p.  92. 

2  The  Latin  termiuatiou  became  familiar  in  Eiiglisli  iu  a  great  number 
of  borrowed  words.  It  is  a  living  suffix  in  our  language,  being  much  used 
in  scientific  coinages  {rpiinine,  etc.),  and  (by  imitation)  in  such  terms  as 
vaseline,  pearliiie,  etc.,  made  up  to  name  commercial  products. 


204  WORDS   AND    THEIR    WAYS 

Still  another  ending  -en  was  once  common  as  a  feminine 
termination,  and  is  identical  with  the  German  -m,  as  in 
Ko tiir/ in,  ' qu.een''  (cf.  Konig,  'king').  It  is  preserved  in 
the  single  word  vixen  (iv oiw  fox),  'a  she-fox,'  and  hence 
'a  snarling  woman,'  'a  scold.'  Observe  also  that  vixen 
shows  the  umlaut  of  o  to  i   (cf.   Ger.    Fuchs,   FUchsin). 

Verbs  show  many  curious  survivals,  only  a  few  of 
which  can  be  mentioned  here. 

Wbl,  an  old  form  of  tvill,  is  never  used  except  in  the 
colloquial  negative  tvont  (for  wol  not,  the  I  having  dis- 
appeared as  in  shant  for  sJiall  not).  Woo't,  as  in  Hamlet's 
'  Woo't  drink  up  esil,  eat  a  crocodile  ?  '  is  simply  tvolt  with- 
out its  I.  Nil  (that  is,  ne  will)  survives  in  the  fossilized 
subjunctive  phrase  wHIt/  nilly  (for  'will  I,  nil  I,'  that  is, 
'will  I,  will  I  not'),  meaning  'whether  I  will  or  no.' 
A  similar  phrase  (in  the  indicative)  is  sliilly  shally,  for 
'  Shall  I,  shall  I  ? '  —  the  natural  hesitating  question  of 
an  undecided  person.  From  this  we  have  formed  the 
extraordinary  verb  to  shillt/shaU//,  which  is  made  up  of 
two  nouns  and  two  pronouns,  but  which  may  be  in- 
flected like  any  other  verb,  as,  '  He  sJiiHi/shallied  a  good 
while.' 

'  If  you  please '  is  an  old  subjunctive  phrase,  and  you  is 
in  the  dative  case  —  'if  it  be  pleasing  to  you.'  'If  you 
like '  is  the  same  thing,  since  the  old  meaning  of  like  is 
'  be  agreeable '  to  one.  After  the  old  dative,  you,  began 
to  be  used  as  a  nominative  also,  the  dative  you  in  these 
phrases,  however,  was  erroneously  taken  as  the  subject  of 
the  verb,  and,  as  the  result  of  the  misapprehension,  we  now 
say,  '  if  I  like '  or  '  if  I  please '  instead  of  the  older  'if  me 
like.'  Observe  that  the  idiom  is  none  the  less  accepted 
because  it  sprang  from  a  blunder,  and,  further,  that  no 
one    thinks    of   challenging    'if    I    please'    because.it   is 


FOSSILS  205 

impossible  to  '  parse  '  the  I  without  giving  an  unheard-of 
sense  to  the  verb. 

Tlie  subjunctive  mood  is  rapidly  going  out  of  use.  In 
particular,  it  is  no  longer  generally  employed,  as  it  for- 
merly was,  to  express  wishes.  In  a  few  phrases,  however, 
which  originally  had  a  religious  significance,  the  old  con- 
struction survives.  Thus  we  can  say  '  God  bless  me  !  ' 
'  Heaven  help  me  I '  ^  The  saints  preserve  us  I '  But  we 
can  hardly  sai/,  '  Fortune  favor  us  I '  though  we  might 
venture  it  in  poetry.  Curses  survive  as  well  as  prayers, 
and  the  subjunctive  '  God  curse  him  !  '  is  quite  as  idio- 
matic as  '  God  bless  him  !  ' 

A  few  other  idiomatic  uses  of  the  subjunctive  also  sur- 
vive in  particular  phrases  :  as,  '  Cojne  what  will,  I  will 
make  the  attempt,'  '•  Act  as  he  may,  he  cannot  alienate  his 
friends,'  '  Tr>/  as  hard  as  he  can,  he  v/ill  never  climb  the 
tree.' 

A  peculiar  idiom  with  the  preterite  subjunctive  had 
survives  in  a  few  phrases.  Thus,  '  I  had  as  lief  go  as 
stay,'  '  You  had  better  not  do  this,"  '  We  had  rather  ride 
than  walk.'  In  this  particular  use  had  is  really  the  pret- 
erite subjunctive  of  have  in  the  sense  of  'regard.'  Tlie 
meaning  may  be  clearly  seen  in  the  first  example.  I  had 
as  lief  means  literally  '•  I  should  regard  it  as  as  pleasant  to 
go  as  to  stay.'  The  extension  of  the  same  construction 
to  had  rather  is  due  to  analogy.  Naturally  I  had,  we  had, 
etc.,  were  contracted  to  I'd,  we'd,  etc.,  in  these  phrases 
(as  elsewhere),  and  many  persons  suppose  that  /  had  in 
the  expressions  just  quoted  is  a  mistaken  expansion  of 
Pd  (the  contraction  of  I  tvoidd).  Such  a  notion  is  not 
strange,  since  this  use  of  had  is  confined  to  so  small  a 
number  of  phrases.  The  result  has  been  a  determined 
attempt  to  stigmatize  the  idiom  as  an  error,  and  to  substi- 


206  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

tute  /  ivould  rathe}',  I  would  better,  etc.,  for  it.  Tlie 
idiom,  however,  is  perfectly  established,  has  been  in  use 
for  centuries,  and  is  habitually  employed  by  the  best 
writers.^  In  some  cases  the  substitution  of  I  ivoidd  results 
in  downright  error.  Thus,  '  I  would  better  go '  is  posi- 
tivel}'  ungrammatical. 

In  older  English  the  indicative  have  and  hath  are  com- 
mon in  such  phrases,  as  well  as  the  subjunctive  had. 
Thus,  — 

'  Yet  have  I  levere  maken  him  good  chere 
In  lionour  than  myn  ernes  [_Le.  uncle's]  lyf  to  lese.' 

Chaucer,  Troilus,  ii,  471-2. 

The  meaning  '  hold,'  '  regard '  (cf .  L.  habere'),  is  also 
seen  in  such  phrases  as  '  I  pray  thee  have  me  excused,'  i.e. 
not  ''^procure  an  excuse  for  me,'  but  '  hold  me  excused  (in 
your  own  mind),'  'pardon  me.' 

In  the  case  of  idioms  like  '  I  had  better,'  one  frequently 
hears  the  objection  that  had  '  will  not  parse.'  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  it  will  parse,  easily  enough,  if  one  knows  how 
to  parse  it.  But  the  objection  would  have  no  validity 
even  if  the  phrases  were  grammatically  inexplicable.  The 
grammarian  has  no  business  to  object  to  an  established 
idiom,  for  idioms  are  superior  to  paradigms  and  analytical 
diagrams.  Grammar  was  made  (pretty  imperfectly)  from 
language,  not  language  from  grammar. 

As  particular  grammatical  forms  or  old  constructions 
often  remain  in  only  a  few  phrases  or  in  single  words,  so 
obsolete  words  occasionally  survive  in  a  few  expressions, 
or  even  a  single  one. 

Fine,  an  old  noun  meaning  '  end '  (Fr.  fin,  L.  finis), 

1  See  Fitzedward  Hall,  in  the  American  Journal  of  Philology,  II, 
281  ff. 


FOSSILS  207 

survives  only  in  the  adverbial  phrase  in  fine.  The  noun 
Jiallow,  '  a  saint,'  survives  only  in  All  Hallows,  and  in  Hal- 
lows''en,  that  is,  the  'eve  or  vigil  of  All  Saints'  Day.'  The 
Anglo-Saxon  rice,  '  kingdom,'  '  domain '  (Ger.  Reicli), 
survives  only  in  InsJioprio ;  the  Anglo-Saxon  Idc,  'offer- 
ing,' only  in  tvedlock ;  the  Anglo-Saxon  rceden  (a  word 
connected  with  rcedan,  'to  counsel,'  but  used  as  an 
abstract  termination)  in  hatred  and  kindred  only. 

To  'revoke'  at  cards  is  to  renege  (often  pronounced 
renig  and  shortened  to  nig).  This  is  L.  renegare,  and  is 
seen  in  its  general  sense  of  '  deny  '  in  Shakspere's  '  Renege, 
affirm,  and  turn  their  halcyon  beaks  with  every  gale  and 
vary  of  their  masters.'  The  Spanish  renegado,  which 
came  into  our  language  bodily,  and  was  also  adapted  as 
renegade,  is  L.  renegatus,  'one  who  has  denied  his  faith,'  'an 
apostate.'  Runagate  is  the  same  thing,  but  comes  from 
the  French  renegat,  and  has  been  corrupted  b}^  'popular 
etymology '  ^  as  if  it  meant  '  runaway '  and  were  from  rww 
and  gate, '  a  way.'  This  gate  comes  from  O.N.  gata,  whence 
also  gait.  Gate,  'a  door,'  is  another  word,  but  may  be 
related. 

Weasand,  an  old  word  for  '  windpipe,'  is  practically  ob- 
solete, except  in  the  half-jocose  phrase  'slit  his  weasand.' 

Stead  is  our  regular  native  word  for  place  (which  is 
French,  see  p.  244).  The  borrowed  word,  however,  has 
narrowed  the  use  of  the  native  term  to  compounds  (like 
homestead,  farmstead,  roadstead)  and  special  phrases  instead 
of,  in  his  stead,  to  stand  me  in  good  stead  (cf.  to  stead  me 
or  bestead  me^.  Even  in  so  idiomatic  an  expression  as 
instead  of  the  French  lieu  (L.  locus)  has  made  a  bid 
for  favor,  but  is  felt  by  most  speakers  as  somewhat 
bookish. 

1  See  Chapter  XXIII, 


208  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

Welkin  is  an  old  word  for  the  '  clouds '  (cf.  Ger.  Wolke)i). 
It  is  kept  only  in  the  phrase  'to  make  the  welkin 
ring.' 

Umhracje,  '  offence,'  survives  in  *•  to  take  umbrage '  (less 
commonly,  '  to  give  umbrage ').  It  is  a  special  sense  of 
umbrage,  '  shade '  (from  Fr.  omhrage,  which  also  has  both 
meanings).  The  figure  is  rather  striking.  One  originally 
'  took  umbrage '  when  one  was  '  thrown  into  the  shade  '  by 
another.  Dudgeon  is  almost  as  limited  as  umhrage  in  its 
use.  It  is  practically  confined  to  the  phrase  in  dudgeon 
('in  great  dudgeon,'  'to  take  a  thing  in  dudgeon').  The 
etymology  is  quite  unknown,  and  the  same  is  true  of  dud- 
geon, 'a  dagger,' — formerly  dudgeon  dagger,  i.e.  one  with 
a  hilt  of  dudgeon  or  boxwood.  The  progress  of  meaning 
in  this  word  is  curious  :  (1)  a  kind  of  wood,  (2)  a  dagger- 
hilt  of  this  wood,  (3)  any  dagger-hilt,  (4)  a  dudgeon- 
hilted  dagger,  (5)  any  dagger.  It  is  not  impossible  that 
dudgeon,  '  resentment,'  is  the  same  word.  We  speak  of 
'looking  daggers,'  and  a  bitter  speech  is  'a  dagger  in 
one's  heart.'  The  sense  in  question  is  not  found  till  the 
Elizabethan  age,  when,  for  a  time,  the  continental  fashion 
of  stahhing  in  resentment  of  an  insult  was  rather  ostenta- 
tiously followed  by  the  English.  Possibly  '  to  take  a  thing 
in  dudgeon '  was  to  resent  it  by  planting  your  dagger  in 
the  speaker's  breast ;  but  this  is  not  so  likely. 

Suborn  is  a  good  example  of  a  word  that  is  kept  only  in 
a  very  limited  application.  It  means  to  'procure  or  fit  out 
secretl}^ '  (L.  sub-orno'),  and  was  used  in  English  for  the 
act  of  inducing  another  person  to  commit  a  crime.  Thus 
Macduff  speaks  of  the  attendants  '  suborned '  to  murder 
Duncan,  and  Hotspur  talks  of  'murtherous  suborna- 
tion.' Nowada3^s  both  the  verb  and  the  noun  are  con- 
fined to  perjury  and  treason.     '  Subornation  of  perjury ' 


FOSSILS  209 

is  a  well-known  offence ;  subornation  of  murder  is  never 
heard  of. 

Sometimes  an  obsolete  word  is  retained  in  an  idiom  in 
which  it  is  associated  with  another  word  of  similar  meaning. 
We  understand  the  whole  phrase  as  a  kind  of  compound 
and  get  the  sense  out  of  the  word  which  has  survived  in 
ordinary  use.  A  good  example  is  '  without  let  or  hin- 
drance.' Let  means  'hindrance,'  but  is  obsolete  except  in 
this  idiom.  In  Anglo-Saxon  there  were  two  verbs,  lettan, 
'to  hinder,' 1  and  Icetan^  'to  permit,'  'to  let  go,'  'to  let.' 
The  forms  of  these  verbs  were  originally  quite  distinct. 
Gradually,  however,  they  fell  together,  so  that  in  the  time 
of  Shakspere  there  appeared  to  be  a  single  verb,  to  let, 
which  sometimes  meant  '  to  hinder '  and  sometimes  '  to 
permit.'  The  ambiguity  of  such  a  verb  led  to  the  aban- 
donment of  one  set  of  meanings,  and  with  this  abandon- 
ment went  the  noun  let  in  the  sense  of  '  hindrance,'  except 
in  the  single  phrase  just  noted. 

3Iete,  an  old  word  for  'boundar}^'  is  similarly  preserved 
in  the  legal  phrase  metes  and  bounds. 

Hue  and  cry  (A.N.  hu  e  cri,  connected  with  huer,  'to 
shout ')  is  a  good  example  of  the  same  thing. 

Obsolete  or  unusual  words  are  often  preserved  as  family 
names.  So  Fletcher,  '  arrow  maker '  (Fr.  fieehe, '  arrow ')  ; 
Bowyer,  'bow  maker'  ;  Spicer,  'dealer  in  spices,'  'grocer' 
(cf.  O.  Fr.  espicier,  Fr.  epicier')  ;  Webster,  '  weaver '  (with 
-ster,  the  old  feminine  ending) ;  Baxter  (for  backster), 
'  baker  '  ;  Sumner,  '  summoner,'  '  somnour  '  (ofticer  of  the 
ecclesiastical  courts);  Bail,  'dairyman"  (O.N.  deigja.)  \ 
Cbapman,  'merchant';  Lorhiipr,  'maker  of  bits,  etc."; 
Latimer  {i.e.  'Latiner'),  'interpreter.' 

^  It  is  ctyniologically  related  to  the  adjective  late,,  and  properly  meant 
to  retard,'  '  to  make  slow  '  {late  having  the  meaning  of  '  slow  '). 


210  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

* 

Fain  was  once  freely  used  in  the  sense  of  '  glad ' ;  and  it 
was  possible  to  say, '  I  am  fain,'  exactly  as  we  now  say,  '  I 
am  happy.'  We  now  have  the  word  only  in  the  phrase, 
'  to  be  fain  to  do  so  and  so,'  where  it  apparently  means 
'forced'  or  'obliged.'  This  curious  shift  in  meaning  is 
easily  understood.  Falstaff,  according  to  his  own  account 
(Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  act  ii,  scene  2),  'leaving  the 
fear  of  God  on  the  left  hand  and  hiding  his  honor 
in  his  necessity,  was  fain  to  shuffle,  to  hedge,  and  to 
lurch.' 

A  great  many  obsolete  words  remain  embedded  in  the 
language  as  parts  of  compounds. 

Gar,  an  old  word  for  '  spear,'  found  also  among  the  Celts 
(whence  Cesar's  gaesuni),  survives  in  garlic'^  and  gar-pike, 
and  in  the  noun  gore,  for  a  'triangular  piece.'  It  is  also, 
in  all  probability,  the  source  of  the  verb  gore,  'to  pierce.' 
G-ore,  '  blood,'  is  hot  connected  ;  it  is  the  Anglo-Saxon  gor, 
'  filth,'  and  had  no  poetical  associations  in  the  eighth 
century. 

Many  native  compounds  have  ceased  to  be  felt  as  other 
than  simple  words,  and  in  such  cases  the  meaning  of  their 
component  parts  has  been  utterly  forgotten.  Lord  is  A.S. 
hldford,  from  Iddf,  'bread'  (our  loaf),  and  iveard,  tvard, 
'guardian.'  Lady  is  A.S.  hldfdige,  of  which  the  first 
part  is  also  Mdf,  but  the  -dige  is  uncertain.  The  connec- 
tion with  dough,  which  has  been  suggested,  as  if  lady  were 
'  kneader  of  bread,'  is  attractive,  but  not  quite  easy.  At 
all  events,  both  lord  and  lady  had  lost  their  literal  mean- 
ing before  the  end  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  period. 

Stirrup  is  sty-rope,  that  is,  'mounting  rope,'  from  A.S. 
stlgan,    'to   mount'    (cf.    Gev.  steigen),   and    rap,   'rope.' 

1  A.S.  f/drleac,  literally  '  spear-leek  '  or  '  spear-plant,'  from  the  shape 
of  the  leaves. 


FOSSILS  211 

The  literal  meaning  of  the  word,  and  the  fact  that  it  was 
a  compound,  must  have  remained  in  people's  minds  until 
the  verb  to  sty  {stiyan,  stien')  became  obsolete.  We  have 
a  trace  of  this  verb  in  our  sfi/  (in  the  eye),  wliich  means, 
literally,  a  'rising'  or  'swelling.' 

Handiivorlc  is  not  a  compound  of  handy  and  work,  but 
of  hand  and  A.S.  ge-iveorc,  where  ye-  is  a  collective  prefix, 
which  later  wore  down  to  i-.  Handicraft  has  no  hereditary 
right  to  its  i,  whicli  it  has  appropriated  from  handiworh. 

The  step-  in  stepsoyi  and  the  like  is  the  adjective  ste'op, 
'  destitute,'  '  bereaved,'  so  that  stepson  or  stepchild  is  the 
same  as  orphan,  which  comes  from  the  Greek  for  'be- 
reaved.' Stepfather  and  stepmother  are  therefore  terms 
which  could  only  have  arisen  after  the  step-  had  lost  its 
proper  sense.  A  stepmother  is  not  a  '  bereaved  mother,' 
but  one  who  takes  the  place  of  a  mother  to  the  bereaved 
children.  This  illustrates  the  tendency  of  language  to 
form  groups,  and  to  make  new  words  to  fill  out  any 
gaps  that  may  be  observed  in  any  group. 

The  nightmare  is  not  a  she-horse,  but  a  nymph  or  de- 
monic creature.  The  Anglo-Saxon  mara,  '  incubus,'  is 
quite  distinct  from  mearh,  '  mare ' ;  but  the  words  were 
later  confused,  so  that  one  even  hears  night-horse  as  a  jocose 
variation.  The  origin  of  mara,  'incubus,'  is  uncertain, 
though  the  word  is  found  in  several  languages  of  our 
family.  The  suggestion  that  it  means  '  crusher,'  and  is 
connected  with  mar,  is  not  free  from  difficulties. 

Mermaid  preserves  the  Anglo-Saxon  noun  mere,  'lake,' 
'  sea '  (akin  to  L.  mare'),  which  is  obsolete  except  in  poetry 
or  dialect.  The  word  is  thought  to  have  the  same  root 
as  L.  morior,  '  die,'  so  that  the  sea  was  so  called  as  being  a 
'dead  waste,'  a  'wilderness  of  waters.'  3Iarsh  is  a  deriva- 
tive of  A.S.  mere;  morass  (Fr.  marais),  seems  to  be  from 


212  WORDS   AXD    THEIR    WAYS 

L.  mare.  Moor  doubtless  belongs  to  the  same  group.  It 
is  A.S.  mor,  which  meant  both  'moor'  and  'morass'  as 
well  as  'mountain.' 

Just  as  many  old  forms  remain  fossilized  in  the  language, 
and  an  obsolete  word  may  survive  in  a  single  idiom  or  a 
compound,  so  now  and  then  a  peculiar  phrase  or  group  of 
phrases  preserves  some  ancient  meaning  of  a  term  that  is 
otherwise  common  in  a  different  sense.  Thus  gliostljf 
originally  meant  '  spiritual '  in  any  sense ;  but  it  is  now 
specialized  to  disembodied  spirits,  except  in  Hohi  Ghost 
and  ghostly  father  or  counsellor^  and  the  like.  In  this  case, 
the  survival  is  due  to  the  sacred  associations,  which  always 
act  as  conservative  forces.  Confound^  in  the  sense  of  '  de- 
stroy,' is  quite  obsolete,  except  in  the  colloquial  confound 
you  !  that  is  literally  '  God  destroy  you  !  '  which  is  used, 
however,  like  most  oaths  and  curses,  with  slight  feeling  for 
its  tremendous  significance.  Damn  has  been  specialized  in 
the  theological  sense  of  'condemn  to  eternal  punishment.' 
Its  old  meaning  of  'condemn'  in  general  (as  in  damned  to 
death')  is  still  alive  in  'the  play  was  damned.'  Condition, 
in  the  sense  of  'character'  or  'nature,'  is  extremely  com- 
mon in  Elizabethan  English.  Thus  when  Gloster  in  King 
Lear  says  that  '  the  stars  above  us  govern  our  conditions,' 
he  means  that  we  owe  our  characters  to  the  influence  of 
the  heavenly  bodies,  —  we  do  not  derive  them  from  our 
parents.  'An  ill-conditioned  fellow'  still  shows  a  trace  of 
the  Elizabethan  sense. 

Comfort  (from  L.  com-  and  fortis,  '  strong,'  through  the 
French)  originally  meant  'to  strengthen,'  'support.'  It 
now  means  '  to  console  ' ;  but  the  literal  sense  is  preserved 
in  one  phrase,  'giving  aid  and  comfort  to  the  enemy,'  a 
legal  formula  which  has  become  'popular.'  Observe  that 
aid  and  comfort  mean  much  the  same  thing ;   and  that  in 


FOSSILS  213 

our  modern  use  Ave  take  them  together  as  if  they  were 
a  single  word,  getting  our  understanding  of  the  phrase 
from  aid^  and  not  attaching  any  definite  sense  to  comfort. 
Compare  let  or  Jiindrmice  (p.  209 ). 

Abuse  is  literally  '  to  misuse,'  and  this  is  the  regular 
modern  sense.  The  secondary  meaning,  'deceive,'  was 
once  very  common,  but  is  now  quite  obsolete.  Disabuse, 
however,  still  signifies  '  to  undeceive.' 

Nerve  once  meant  'sinew'  (L.  nervus),^  as  in  Sliak- 
spere's  'hardy  as  the  Nemean  lion's  nerve.'  Nervous  was 
therefore  '  vigorous,'  —  a  sense  which  remains  in  'a  nervous 
style'  or  '  writer."  With  the  advance  of  physiology,  how- 
ever, the  name  nerve  received  a  different  sense,  with  the 
result  that,  in  ordinary  use,  nervous  suggests  almost  the 
opposite  of  sinewy  strength.  It  is  Avorth  notice  that  we 
have  transferred  to  nerves  in  the  modern  sense  a  number  of 
expressive  words  which  are  literally  applicable  to  the 
muscles  and  sinews.  Thus  we  speak  of  '  nervous  tension,' 
and  say  'every  nerve  was  tense  with  excitement,'  or  in 
the  vernacular,  '  his  nerves  were  on  the  stretch.'  Com- 
pare 'nervous  strain."  'To  lose  one's  nerve'  is  really 
'to  lose  one's  sinewy  fibre,'  to  become  weak  and  'flabby.' 
In  modern  usage,  a  man  '  loses  his  nerve  '  in  proportion  as 
he  becomes  conscious  that  he  has  nerves,  —  a  curious  con- 
tradiction, but  natural  enough  when  we  know  the  history 
of  the  word. 

TJiorough  and  through  are  merely  different  ways  of  pro- 
nouncing the  same  word.  As  often  happens,  we  have 
utilized  the  variation  to  make  two  words  of  one."  We  no 
longer  employ  thorough  as  a  preposition  ('  thorough  bush, 
thorough  brier ')  or  throughly  as  an  adverb.     Yet  we  still 

^  Nervus  is  tor  au  earlier  aiivrvun,  yerbapa  cognate  with  snare, 
2  See  p.  o55. 


214  WORDS  AND   THEin    WAYS 

speak  of  a  thoroughfare,  a  '  thorough-lighted  room, '  the 
'  thorough-shot  of  a  boom  '  ;  ^  and  conversely,  '  through  and 
through'  is  a  synonym  for  'thoroughly.' 

'■  Prosper,'  curiously  enough,  seems  to  be  the  older  sense 
of  speed  rather  than  'swiftness.'  We  have  it  still  in  'God 
speed  ! '  '  Speed  the  x^lough  ! '  '  good  speed,'  and  the  much 
misunderstood  proverb,  'The  more  haste,  the  worse  speed.' 

Just,  in  the  sense  of  'exact,'  is  still  found  in  the  ad- 
verbial use,  and  also  in  the  printer's  term  justify,  for 
'  straighten '  (type)  ;  cf.  adjust. 

An  old  sense  of  favor,  '  features,'  '  looks,'  survives  only 
in  hard-favored,  ill-  (or  well-)  favored,  and  two  or  three 
phrases  like  '  He  favors  his  father,'  that  is,  '  looks  like 
him.'  So  'Kissing  goes  by  favor,'  a  proverb  that  is  gener- 
ally misunderstood. 

All  that  Chaucer's  Clerk  of  Oxenford  spoke  was  '  soun- 
ing  in  moral  vertu,'  that  is,  it  '  had  a  tendency '  in  that 
direction,  '  was  colored '  by  morality  or  consonant  with  it. 
The  idiom  is  obsolete  in  common  talk,  but  the  lawyers 
have  it  still  :   '  to  sound  in  damages,'  '  to  sound  in  tort.' 

Lust  formerly  signified  '  pleasure '  in  general  (as  Ger. 
Lust  still  does).  A  by-form  of  the  noun  was  list,  which 
is  now  obsolete  except  in  listless,  '•  taking  no  pleasure  in  any- 
thing,' hence  'apathetic' 

Read  in  the  old  sense  of  '  interpret '  or  '  guess  '  (whence 
the  ordinary  meaning)  is  poetically  alive  in  one  phrase, — 
'  to  read  a  riddle.'     Riddle  itself  is  from  this  same  verb.^ 

To  winh  was  once  extremely  common  in  the  sense  of 

1  A  lumberman's  term  for  the  opening  where  the  logs  are  allowed  to 
'  shoot  through.' 

-  It  is  A.S.  ncdels,  the  ending  -els  being  the  same  that  is  seen  in  Ger. 
Ildtlisel.  This  -els  also  survives  in  our  burial,  —  A.S.  byrgels,  with  the 
s  lost  (becau.se  it  looked  like  a  plural)  and  the  -el  respelled  as  if  it  were 
from  the  Latin  termination  -alls. 


FOSSILS  215 

'shut  the  eyes,'  which  survives  only  in  the  figurative 
phrase  'to  wink  at,'  i.e.  'to  connive'  (from  L.  cormiveo, 
Ho  shut  the  eyes  to  '). 

Liberal  retains  something  of  its  old  sense  of  '  gentle- 
manly '  (L.  Uberalis,  '  free-born ')  in  '  liberal  arts  '  and 
'liberal  education/  The  contest  that  is  still  raging  over 
the  nature  of  a  'liberal  education'  affords  very  pretty 
examples  of  the  tyranny  of  words  when  the  'term  is 
allowed  to  govern  the  meaning,'  especially  when  the 
term  is  interpreted  awry  at  the  outset.  Here,  as  in  so 
many  other  wordy  combats,  the  etymon  of  the  Stoics  ^ 
'umpire  sits,  and  by  decision  more  embroils  the  fray.' 

As  yet  is  a  relic  of  an  ancient  idiom.  In  former  times 
it  was  possible  to  prefix  as  to  almost  any  expression  of 
time  or  place  without  appreciably  changing  the  sense. 
Thus  we  find  as  notu  in  the  sense  of  '  now,'  as  in  this  place, 
as  then,  as  at  this  time,  and  so  on.  Of  all  these  phrases 
only  as  yet  has  survived  in  Modern  English. 

On  was  once  common  in  the  sense  of  '  because  of,'  a 
meaning  which  has  survived  in  only  two  or  three  phrases, 
like  on  purpose  and  on  compulsion.  The  preposition  with  ^ 
originally  signified  '  against,'  '  in  opposition  to,'  but  it  has 
lost  this  meaning  except  in  a  few  compounds, — such  as 
withstatid  and  ivithhold.  The  latter  word  means  '  to  hold 
in  opposition  to  somebody  else,'  and  hence  '  to  retain.' 
Withsay  has  been  re])laeed  by  yainsay  (^gain  =  against),  and 
that  by  the  Latin  synonym  contradict.  This  is  an 
interesting  example  of  the  substitution  of  a  learned  for 
a  popular  word.  Withsay  is  pure  Anglo-Saxon,  and  con- 
tradict is  a  'learned'  borrowing.  Yet  few  words  are  now 
more   truly    '  popular '    than   contradict.      The    reason   is 

1  See  p.  230. 

^  Cf.  the  withers  of  a  horse,  against  which  the  harness  draws. 


216  WORDS  ASD   THEIR    WAYS 

obvious.  It  is  a  familiar  term  in  the  nursery.  'You 
must  not  coniracliet'  is  one  of  the  earliest  lessons  in 
courtesy  that  children  have  to  learn.  Thus  they  become 
acquainted  with  this  cumbrous  and  seemingly  erudite 
term  long  before  they  see  it  in  print. ^  There  is  no  other 
test  of  complete  popularity. 

Other  phrases  containing  words  or  senses  seldom  found 
in  other  contexts  are:  in  durance  (especially  'in  durance 
vile,'  from  Shakspere)  ;  ^ -a  foregone  conclusion';  'at  this 
juncture  '  ;  '  in  a  trice  ' ;  '  the  livelong  day  ' ;  'to  meiv  up  '; 
'  a  good  7'itldance  '  ;  '  much  exercised  '  ;  '  st)ft  impeachment  '; 
'  sneaking  fondness '  ;  '  madding  crowd  '  ;  '  damji  with 
faint  praise  '  ;  '  special  dispensation  '  ;  'might  and  7nain  '  ; 
'aid  and  abet'';  'watch  and  ward';  'meat  and  drink'; 
^doubling  capes';  'in  this  cojinection' ;  'hugging  the 
shore'  ;  'skirting  the  bushes';  'the  tvherewithaF ;  'on  his 
own  recognizance.'' 

Some  of  the  phrases  just  quoted  will  be  recognized  as 
bits  of  proverbial  lore  or  as  fragments  from  the  poets. 
In  such  cases,  the  peculiar  word  or  the  ancient  sense 
accounts  for  itself  immediately,  on  the  principal  of  quota- 
tion. So  with  the  survival  of  archaic  language  in  legal 
formulas  like  '  hue  and  cry,'  and,  indeed,  in  many  other 
expressions. 

The  fate  of  a  quotation  that  cuts  loose  from  the  exclu- 
sive society  of  its  context  and  joins  the  mixed  company 
of  idiomatic  phrases,  is  always  instructive,  and  often 
extremely  curious.  '  A  foregone  conclusion  '  now  means 
'  a  result  (or  action)  that  may  be  predicted  with  absolute 
certainty.'  Quite  different  is  the  sense  which  the  words 
bear  in  their  original  context.  When  Othello  says  '  This 
denoted  a  foregone  conclusion,'  lie  means  that  this  dream 

1  See  p.  29. 


FOSSILS  217 

of  Cassio's  pointed  back  to  au  actual  deed  in  tlie  past.^  It 
will  be  seen  that,  in  adopting  Shakspere's  phrase  as  an 
idiom,  we  have  gradually  inverted  its  application. ^ 

An  almost  equally  striking  example  is  the  famous  line, 
'  One  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world  kin,'  from 
Shakspere's  Troilus  and  Cressida.  It  has  become  an 
assertion  of  universal  brotherhood.  In  its  context^  how- 
ever, the  verse  means  simply,  — '  All  men  are  alike  in  one 
natural  trait,'  —  the  love  of  noveltj^ 

One  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world  kin,  — 
Tliat  all,  with  one  consent,  praise  new-born  gauds, 
'I'liough  they  are  made  and  moulded  of  things  past, 
And  give  to  dust  that  is  a  little  gilt 
More  laud  than  gilt  o'er-dusted.    (Act  iii,  sc.  3,  11.  174-S.) 

Thus  we  have  gradually  and  unconsciously  modified 
the  sense  of  two  Shaksperean  passages  until  the  contrast 
betAveen  the  meaning  which  we  attach  to  them  and  tliat 
which  they  bear  in  the  original  context  is  nothing  less 
than  startling.  The  same  process  goes  on  incessantly 
throughout  the  vocabulary  of  any  living  language.  The 
old  terms  shift  their  senses  continually  as  they  adapt 
themselves  to  changed  circumstances  and  novel  ideas, 
—  that  is,  to  new  necessities  in  expressing  thought.  Lan- 
guage develops  by  the  felicitous  misapplication  of  words. 

Stray  relics  of  ancient  usage  are  often  challenged  by 
critics  who  observe  their  isolation,  and  infer  that  they  are 
either  erroneous  or  at  best  '  contrary  to  the  spirit  of  the 
language.'  Such  views  are  quite  wrong,  as  the  briefest 
study  will  show.     The  correctness  of  a  form  or  a  con- 

1  Othello,  act  iii,  sc.  3,  1.  428. 

-  Cf.  L.  cui  bono  ?  '  for  wltose  advantage  ?  '  usually  taken  as  meaning 
*  for  ichat  advantage  ? ' 


218  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

structioii  is  not  impaired  by  the  fact  that  there  is  nothing 
exactly  like  it  in  English,  any  more  than  the  correct- 
ness of  a  word  is  to  be  called  in  qnestion  merely  because 
our  language  has  no  other  that  is  identical  with  it  in 
sound  and  spelling. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE   CONVENTIONAL   CHARACTER   OF   LANGUAGE 

We  have  now  studied  a  number  of  the  most  significant 
processes  in  the  development  of,  our  language.  We  have 
seen  how  words  grow  up  and  how  they  change  their 
forms.  We  have  examined  the  machinery  which  makes 
new  terms  by  derivation  and  composition.  We  have  con- 
sidered the  way  in  which  a  vocabulary  accumulates  by 
borrowing  from  other  languages.  We  have  also  discrim- 
inated between  the  learned  and  the  popular  words  in 
our  vocabulary,  and  have  traced  the  slow  growth  of  a 
literary  language  from  a  mere  tribal  dialect.  Incidentally, 
we  have  had  occasion  to  notice  a  great  many  shifts  in 
sense,  great  and  small,  natural  and  paradoxical.  It  is  now 
time  to  study  more  systematically  the  general  and  par- 
ticular processes  by  which  such  changes  in  signification 
take  place.  In  other  words,  we  must  ask  the  question : 
How  do  words  behave  in  the  development  of  their  various 
meanings  ? 

The  changes  which  the  meanings  of  words  undergo  in 
the  development  of  a  language  seem,  at  first  sight,  purely 
fortuitous  in  some  instances.  In  fact,  however,  the  ap- 
pearance of  chance  is  due  merely  to  our  ignorance  of  the 
causes  that  have  operated  in  each  case.  Such  causes  may 
be  simple  and  easily  understood,  or  so  complex  as  never 
to  be  discoverable  in  their  entirety.  But  so  long  as 
thought  proceeds  in  obedience  to  definite  laws,  language, 

219 


220  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

which  is  tlie  expression  of  thought  l)y  means  of  conven- 
tional signs,  must  also  obey  rules  which,  if  we  could  dis- 
cover them,  would  account  for  every  variation. 

We  often  speak  of  the  '  proper  or  essential  meaning '  of  a 
word.  The  term  is  convenient,  and  one  could  not  well 
dispense  with  it  in  etymological  study.  Yet  it  may  easily 
become  misleading,  if  certain  cautionary  limitations  are 
not  borne  in  mind.  In  the  absolute  sense  of  the  term  a 
word  has  no  '  essential '  meaning.  Words  are  conven- 
tional signs.  1  They  mean  what  they  are  intended  to  mean 
by  the  speaker  and  understood  to  mean  b}^  the  hearer. 
There  is  no  other  sense  in  which  language  can  be  properly 
said  to  signify  anything.  Thus  when  a  boy  in  the  street 
declares  that  he  '•  hain't  seen  no  dog,'  it  is  not  true  that  his 
'  two  negatives  make  one  affirmative,'  for  he  intends  simply 
an  emphatic  negation,  and  we  inevitably  understand  him 
in  that  way,  however  nice  we  may  be  about  our  own  ??,o?'s. 
In  other  words,  two  negatives  may  make  an  affirmative  in 
logic,  but  they  seldom  do  in  English  speech. ^  The  rule  in 
Anglo-Saxon  and  Middle  English  was  like  that  in  Greek: 
'Use  as  many  negatives  as  you  can.'  Thus  in  King 
Alfred's  description  of  the  effects  of  the  harping  of  Or- 
pheus :  '  No  hart  shunned-not  no  lion,  nor  no  hare  no 
hound,  nor  no  beast  knew-not  no  hatred  nor  no  fear  from 
another,  for  the  pleasure  they  took  in  the  sound.' 

Many  current  social  phrases  show  in  a  moment  how 
conventional  are  the  meanings  of  words.  Thus,  '  Beg 
your  pardon  ! '  with  a  questioning  inflection  of  the  voice, 
has  come  to  mean  simply  '  What  ?  '  —  au  inquiry  when 
one  has  failed  to  catch  another's  remark.     The  only  dif- 

1  See  p.  :]12. 

'^  The  somewhat  artilicial  '  not  unnecessary,'  '  not  impossible,'  and  the 
Uke  (imitated  from  the  Latin)  are  almost  the  only  exceptions  in  English. 


CONVENTIONAL   CHARACTER   OF  LANGUAGE      221 

ference  between  '  Beg  pardon '  and  '  What? '  is  a  difference 
in  conrtesy,  —  the  former  involving  an  apology  for  in- 
attention. '  Dear  Sir '  at  the  beGfinnincf  of  a  letter,  and 
'  Your  humble  servant '  Tor  '  yours '  anyway)  at  the  end, 
may  mean  very  much,  but  commonly  mean  very  little ; 
they  are  no  more  than  a  notification  to  your  correspondent 
that  a  letter  is  beginning  and  ending  (like  salutem  and 
vale  in  Latin).  'Please'  or  'if  yon  please,'  annexed  to  a 
command,  carries  no  suggestion  that  the  person  who  re- 
ceives the  order  is  to  obey  it  or  not,  as  he  chooses.  'An 
early  remittance  will  greatly  oblige '  does  not  necessarily 
indicate  that  your  tailor  feels  himself  under  an  obligation 
when  you  pay  your  old  bill.  '  Your  favor  of  the  30th  '  is 
a  common  commercial  phrase  for  any  letter,  though  we  all 
know  that  letters  are  hardly  favors  to  busy  men.  'Be  so 
good  as  to  go  home  I'  '  Kindly  let  me  see  no  more  of  you! ' 
'Not  at  home!'    'So  glad  to  see  you!'  'Give  my  love 

to  ,'  ^  Sorry  to  be   out  when  you  called!'  —  are  all 

phrases  which  mean  just  as  much  and  just  as  little  as 
they  are  understood  to  mean  by  the  speaker  and  the 
person  spoken  to. 

Perhaps  the  final  test  of  the  fact  that  language  is  a  con- 
vention,—  that  words  have  no  natural  and  essential  mean- 
ing which  belongs  to  them  more  than  any  other,  —  is  seen 
in  irony.  Here  we  use  a  word  in  a  sense  which  is  the 
direct  opposite  of  that  which  it  usually  bears, — and  we 
are  understood  without  difficulty.  Thus,  '  He  is  a  very 
courageous  person '  may  mean,  if  it  is  so  intended  and  so 
taken,  '  He  is  an  arrant  coward  !  '  Nor  is  it  absolutely 
necessary  that  the  remark  should  be  uttered  in  any  special 
tone  of  voice  in  order  to  convey  this  ironical  meaning. 
The  intention  of  the  speaker  and  the  understanding  of  the 
hearer  are  all  that  is  required.     There  is  a  whole  class  of 


222  WOBDS  AXD   THEIR    WAYS 

expressions  (more  or  less  colloquial)  which  have  become 
idiomatic  in  an  ironical  sense:  as,  'A  precious  rascal!' 
'  That's  a  pretty  thing  to  say  !  '  '  Fine  woi-k,  this !  ' 
'  Here's  a  pretty  how-d'ye-do  ! '  'A  nice  mess  ! '  '  You're 
too  kind  I  '  '  How  vei^^  good  of  you  !  '  '  Here's  rich- 
ness ! '  '  This  is  pleasant ! '  '  Much  good  may  it  do 
him!'  'I  wish  you  joy  of  it!'  So  merci !  and  danke ! 
may  mean  '  No,  thank  you ! '  and  the  Romans  used 
henigne  (like  the  Greek  KaX(t)<;}  in  a  similar  sense. 

The  truth  of  these  considerations  may  be  tested  in 
another  way.  Many  words  have  so  changed  their  mean- 
ings in  the  course  of  time  that  their  present  sense  has  no 
necessary  logical  connection  with  that  which  they  formerly 
bore. 

Thus  the  Latin  rivcdls  is  an  adjective  that  meant  '  per- 
taining to  a  brook'  (L.  ritnis ;  cf.  river,  rivulef);  but  a 
rival  is  a  'competitor."  There  is  no  necessary  connection 
of  thought  between  the  two  senses.  Philologists  know  the 
history  of  this  curious  change,  and  see  that  it  is  easy  and 
natural.  Rivcdes  in  Latin  came  to  mean  'neighbors  who 
got  water  from  the  same  stream,'  —  and  it  is  thus  used  in 
the  Roman  Digest,  which  discusses  the  contests  that  often 
rose  between  such  persons  respecting  their  riparian  rights. 
But  this  connection  between  the  senses  is  a  mere  matter 
of  history.  It  does  not  effect  us  to-day.  We  do  not 
think  of  brooks  when  we  talk  of  rivals  in  politics,  or 
business,  or  love. 

Chamberlain  once  meant  a  servant  who  attended  to  the 
chambers  of  a  house  or  inn.  The  Chamberlain  of  London 
is  the  city  treasurer. 

Phaethon  was  a  Greek  participle  that  meant  '  shining,' 
and  was  appropriately  applied  to  the  son  of  Phoebus. 
Phaethon  once  drove  a  chariot  with  disastrous  results,  and 


CONVENTIONAL   CHABACTEB   OF  LANGUAGE       223 

his  name  now  designates  a  kind  of  vehicle.  But  we  do 
not  call  such  \ ehieles  phaefo7is  because  they  shine. 

ExpJodo  meant,  in  Latin,  '  to  drive  off  an  actor  l)y 
clapping  the  hands,'  then  '  to  hoot  oft" '  by  any  noisy  sign 
of  disapproval.  Thus  Cicero  speaks  of  a  player  as  being 
'exploded  not  merely  by  hissing,  but  by  abusive  words.' 
The  modern  intransitive  use  of  e.rplode  is  very  modern 
indeed,  but  it  suggests  neither  actors  nor  catcalls.  The 
bridsre  between  the  senses  is  tlie  idea  of  '  driving  out '  in 
such  phrases  as  'the  Ijall  was  exploded  from  the  gun.' 
So  powerful,  however,  are  the  modern  associations  of  the 
word  that  even  the  bookish  phrase  '  an  exploded  fallacy,' 
which  preserves  the  old  sense,  is  commonly  understood 
as  an  error  that  has  been  'blown  up '  or  'blown  to  pieces' 
by  the  arguments  of  an  adversary. 

Ingeyiium  originally  meant  '  that  which  is  born  in  a 
man'  (cf.  generate,  genus).  Now,  in  the  form  engine 
(taken  into  English  through  the  French),  it  means  a 
machine  for  the  application  of  '  power,'  —  a  locomotive, 
for  instance.  The  intermediate  steps  are  well  known 
('  mother-wit,'  '  contrivance,'  '  device  ')  ;  but  it  would  be 
manifestly  absurd  to  interpret  our  English  word  by  appeal- 
ing to  in  and  the  root  gex,  '  to  be  born.' 

These  are  merely  a  few  examples  out  of  thousands,  but 
they  suffice  to  enforce  what  has  been  said  of  the  conven- 
tional nature  of  words. 

To  be  sure,  the  course  by  which  these  same  words  have 
strayed  so  far  from  their  former  selves  may  usually  be 
traced ;  and  the  clew  which  has  guided  their  wanderings 
may  then  become  evident.  But  this  does  not  alter  the 
case ;  for  the  present  signification  of  each  of  them  is  its 
meaning,  and  something  very  different  ivas  its  meaning  a 
hundred  or  a  thousand  years  ago,  and  between  the  two 


224  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

is  a  great  gap,  which  the  memory  and  the  linguistic  con- 
sciousness of  the  mode-rn  speaker  does  not  span,  and  could 
not  if  it  would.  Tt  is  as  if  the  Avord  had  been  annihilated 
and  created  anew.  Tlie  modern  user  knows  nothing  of 
the  former  meaning. 

Words,  then,  have  no  character  in  themselves.  They 
are  merely  conventional  signs,  and  consequently  they  can 
be  good  or  bad,  dignified  or  vulgar,  only  in  accordance 
with  the  ideas  which  they  conventionally  denote  or  sug- 
gest in  the  mind  of  the  speaker  and  his  hearers.  Yet 
under  this  head  of  s7ic/[/estions  comes  in  an  important  con- 
sideration, which  accounts  for  a  great  deal  that  would 
otherwise  be  inexplicable.  Most  words,  from  their  use, 
acquire  special  connotations  or  associations,  which  almost 
seem  to  give  them  a  character  of  their  own. 

Thus  the  word  fist  means  simply  '  the  hand  with  the 
fingers  doubled  up  against  the  palm.'  In  the  idiomatic 
comparison  'as  big  as  your  fist,'  it  is  purely  descriptive, 
and  has  no  particular  character,  good  or  bad.  The  use  of 
the  fist  in  fighting,  however,  has  given  a  peculiar  connota- 
tion to  the  term.  We  may  say  '  He  hit  his  opponent  with 
his  clenched  fist,'  for  here  again  fist  is  purely  descriptive 
and  occurs  in  an  appropriate  environment.  Similarly,  we 
may  say  '  The  boy  cried  dismally,  wiping  his  eyes  with 
his  dingy  fist,'  for  here  there  is  a  certain  grotesqueness  in 
the  scene  which  justifies  the  nse  of  undignified  language. 
But  we  can  no  longer  say,  as  was  formerly  possible,  '  The 
lady  held  a  lily  in  her  delicate  fist.'  In  other  words,  the 
associations  of  fist  are  either  pugnacious,  vulgar,  or  jocose. 

These  suggestive  associations  are  partly  general  and 
partly  individual.  If  certain  phrases  are  habitually  asso- 
ciated in  our  minds  with  low  or  disagreeable  persons  or 
things,  they  will  inevitably  be  relegated  to  the  category  of 


CONVENTIONAL   CHARACTER   OF  LANGUAGE       225 

unseemly  terms ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  phrases  that  are 
associated  with  dignified  and  reputable  persons  or  circum- 
stances, will  acquire  a  kind  of  respectability  independent 
of  the  exact  meaning  which  they  convey. 

The  associations  in  question  may  be  purely  personal. 
Everybody  remembers  certain  words  which  he  dislikes 
intensely,  though  they  are  in  common  use,  convey  no  bad 
or  disagreeable  meaning,  and  are  quite  euphonious.  We 
may  even  remember  our  reason  for  such  dislikes.  Perhaps 
the  word  is  associated  with  an  unpleasant  experience  ; 
more  likely,  however,  our  antipathy  is  due  to  its  habitual 
use  by  some  one  whom  we  do  not  fancy. ^  Or  we  may 
have  been  bored  by  hearing  the  word  over-used,  so  that 
every  new  repetition  gives  us  a  feeling  of  satiety. 

We  have  already  averted  to  this  doctrine  of  association 
in  discussing  slang. ^  One  of  the  chief  objections  to  the 
excessive  use  of  this  pariah  dialect  is  not  that  there  is 
anything  objectionable  about  the  words  themselves,  but 
that  their  associations  are  low,  or  at  least  undignified,  and 
perhaps  disgusting.  If  they  secure  a  position  in  the 
vocabulary,  their  origin  is  likely  to  be  forgotten,  and  they 
cease  to  be  offensive. 

The  associations  of  words  are  always  shifting,  even  when 
the  meaning  remains  unchanged.  Hence  we  continually 
meet  with  expressions  in  our  older  poets  which  have  lost 
their  dignity,  and  appear  to  us  out  of  harmony  with  the 
context,  though  they  were  quite  irreproachable  when  the 
author  used  them.  Examples  are  brag,  cand//,  pate,  slub- 
ber, mope,  fry,  portly,  smug,  pother,  liver,  wink,  blab,  feed, 
and  many  others.  The  effect  referred  to  may  be  felt  in 
such  a  passage  as  the  following  :  — 

1  So  we  often  feel  an  aversion  to  the  very  names  of  people  whom  we  do 
not  like.  -  See  p.  72. 

Q 


226  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WA  YS 

I  have  dispatch'd  in  post 
To  sacred  Delphos,  to  Apollo's  temple, 
Cleoraenes  and  Dion,  whom  you  know 
Of  stnff'd  sufficiency. 

Shakspeke,  The  Winter's  Tale,  act  ii,  sc.  1,  11.  182-5. 

It  is  largely  these  indefinable  connotations  of  words 
that  make  it  so  difiicult  to  speak  a  foreign  tongue.  We 
may  be  well  trained  in  grammar  and  command  a  large 
vocabulary,  and  j^et  use  words  which,  though  they  express 
our  meaning  accurately  enough,  suggest  ridiculous  or  inop- 
portune associations  to  a  native.  '  Baboo  English '  is 
proverbial.  The  awkward  and  equivocal  remarks  into 
which  one  frequently  blunders  in  speaking  one's  own 
language,  '  the  things  one  would  rather  have  left  unsaid,' 
depend  on  a  momentary  forgetfulness  of  some  more  or 
less  obscure  connotation  which  the  words  that  we  are 
using  may  bear. 

Clearly,  then,  we  are  dealing  with  a  very  real  phenome- 
non in  the  operations  of  language.  When  a  word  has 
been  long  used  in  a  particular  sense,  there  cluster  about  it 
a  great  variety  of  traditional  associations,  —  religious,  his- 
torical, literary,  or  sentimental,  which,  though  not  a  part 
of  its  meaning,  properly  so  called,  are  still  a  considerable 
factor  in  its  significant  power.  A  rose  by  any  other  name 
would  smell  as  sweet,  no  doubt;  yet  no  other  name  would 
so  vividly  suggest  to  us  its  fragrance.  The  noun  lily  is 
no  whiter,  nor  is  it  more  graceful,  than,  for  example,  nilly. 
Yet  if  it  were  possible  to  substitute  nilly  for  lily^  it  would 
be  long  before  the  new  term  would  call  up  in  our  minds 
either  the  whiteness  or  the  grace  of  the  lily  as  the  accus- 
tomed word  presents  them,  —  not  by  virtue  of  any  inherent 
quality,  but  merely  because  of  its  traditional  and  poetic 
associations. 


CONVENTIONAL   CHARACTER   OF  LANGUAGE       227 

The  power  of  such  connotations  becomes  very  great 
when  the  word  is  an  old  one,  which  has  been  much  used, 
and  is  in  some  manner,  therefore,  bound  up  with  the  most 
intense  experiences  of  great  numbers  of  men.  Words 
like  father,  mother,  home,  or  the  name  of  one's  country, 
may  have  a  tremendous  effect  in  a  great  crisis.  A  mob 
may  be  roused  to  fury  l)y  the  utterance  of  a  single  word ; 
yet  in  all  such  cases  it  is  of  course  not  the  word  at  all  that 
produces  the  effect,  but  its  associations.  Cpesar's  mutinous 
army  was  reduced  to  tearful  submission  by  the  one  word 
Quirites!  '  fellow-citizens,'  which  reminded  them  that  they 
were  no  longer  commilitones,  the  '•  fellow-soldiers '  of  their 
beloved  leader. 

Indeed,  lanmiao'e  is  sometimes  translated  into  conduct. 
A  figure  of  speech  may  even  suggest  a  course  of  action. 
To  '  bridle  one's  tongue '  is  an  old  and  very  natural  meta- 
phor. Is  it  too  much  to  believe  that  it  suggested  the 
particular  form  of  gag  used  in  the  seventeenth  and  eigh- 
teenth centuries  to  confine  the  tongue  of  a  convicted 
shrew  ?  At  all  events,  the  figure  of  speech  is  centuries  older 
than  the  actual  'scold's  bridle.'  A  mistaken  etymology 
may  react  in  a  similar  manner.  A  forlorn  hope  is  a  body 
of  soldiers  who  undertake  some  service  of  extraordinary 
peril.  The  phrase  is  an  adaptation  of  the  Dutch  verloren 
hoop,  'lost  band'  (in  Fr.,  enfants  perdus).  Hoop  is 
cognate  with  our  heap,  which  formerly  signified  a  multi- 
tude of  persons  as  well  as  of  things.  Who  can  doubt 
that  the  happy  confusion  of  tongues  which  illuminated 
with  a  ray  of  hope  the  desperate  valor  of  the  old  phrase, 
has  had  its  effect  on  the  fortune  of  war  ? 

As  we  have  already  remarked,  we  seem  to  ourselves  to 
speak  by  nature,  for  we  cannot  remember  learning  to  talk. 
This  fact,  taken  in  connection  with  the  powerful  influence 


228  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

which  words  often  produce  upon  our  minds  through  the 
association  of  ideas,  enables  us  readily  to  understand  how 
it  is  often  thought  that  words  have  some  natural  power  or 
meaning  independently  of  usage  or  convention. ^  This 
idea  is  widespread,  and  manifests  itself  alike  in  the  savage 
and  in  the  philosopher. 

Thus  we  find  amongst  men  of  all  degrees  of  civilization 
a  deep-seated  belief  in  the  magic  potency  of  words.  This 
belief  underlies  all  kinds  of  charms  and  incantations.  It 
is  not  the  magician  who  forces  the  demon  to  appear  or 
produces  the  convulsion  of  nature,  but  the  words  them- 
selves which  the  magician  speaks.  His  power  consists 
only  in  knowing  the  words.  There  are  stories  of  ignorant 
persons,  and  even  children,  who  have  accidentally  read  a 
passage,  to  them  unintelligible,  from  a  book  of  magic,  with 
precisely  the  same  effect  which  the  spell  would  have  had 
if  recited  by  the  enchanter,  Similarl}^  it  is  often  thought 
that  the  name  of  a  person,  an  animal,  or  an  object,  has  a 
mysterious  connection  with  its  bearer.  A  werewolf  may 
be  restored  to  his  human  form  by  calling  him  by  name. 
If  a  berserk  champion  was  addressed  by  his  right  name  in 
the  midst  of  a  battle,  he  instantly  lost  his  demonic  strength. 
In  invoking  a  god,  or  other  supernatural   being,  it  was 


1  So  complex  a  phenomenon  is  language  that  even  this  possibility  can- 
not be  utterly  denied.  Any  such  essential  meaning,  however,  lies  so 
very  far  back  that  it  is  useless  to  attempt  to  discover  it  in  the  case  of  any 
particular  term.  In  other  words,  if  there  ever  was  such  an  essential  ele- 
ment of  meaning  involved  in  a  particular  combination  of  sounds,  so  many 
changes  have  occurred  in  the  thousands  of  years  during  which  the  term 
has  passed  current  among  men  that  it  must  have  lost  this  original  signifi- 
cance. Indeed,  the  sounds  themselves  must  be  something  quite  different 
from  what  they  were  at  the  outset.  Hence  we  are  obliged  in  the  pi-esent 
discussion  to  regard  the  essential  element  of  meaning  in  any  particular 
word  as  either  non-existent  in  the  beginning,  or  as  now  undiscoverable, 
and  therefore,  for  our  purposes,  nil. 


CONVENTIONAL   CHARACTER   OF  LANGUAGE       229 

customary  to  use  many  different  names.^  Often,  in  later 
times,  the  object  of  this  variety  was  thought  to  be  the 
winning  of  the  deity's  favor  by  employing  that  title  which 
he  might  prefer.  Originally,  however,  the  purpose  was 
to  make  sure  of  uttering  the  one  true  and  essential  name 
of  the  divinity,  —  that  name  which  would  control  him 
instantly  and  force  him  to  grant  your  request.  It  is  well 
known  that  the  real  name  of  the  city  of  Rome  was  sup- 
posed to  be  kept  secret,  lest,  if  it  became  known  to  the 
enemy,  they  might  use  it  in  incantations  which  would 
deprive  the  city  of  its  protecting  gods.^  So,  among  some 
savages,  it  is  a  deadly  insult  to  call  a  man  by  his  right 
name,  —  an  idea  which  has  left  its  traces  in  the  apologetic 
Latin  formula  "  quem  honoris  causa  nomino,'  and  in  the 
parliamentary  phrase  '  the  gentleman  from  Ohio.' 

All  these  superstitions,  primitive  as  they  seem  to  us, 
have  had  considerable  effect  on  men's  opinions  about  lan- 
guage, and,  consequently,  on  language  itself.  They  have 
even  found  philosophic  expression  in  the  Stoic  doctrine 
of  etymology,  which  has  exerted  a  profound  influence  on 
modern  thought,  and  still  sways  us  in  our  judgment  of 
words. 

When,  in  the  fourth  or  fifth  century  before  Christ,  the 
Greek  philosophers  began  to  connect  the  study  of  words 
with  that  of  things,  one  of  the  questions  which  confronted 
them  was,  whether  words  and  their  meanings  came  'by 
nature'  (c^ucret),  or  artificially  and  '  by  convention '  (Oicret). 
The  Stoics,  in  accordance  with  their  general  theory  of  the 


1  The  custom  passed  into  a  literary  convention  in  iiivokiiiii'  the  higher 
powers  to  aid  tlie  poet.  See  tins  opening  passage  in  Book  iii  of  Paradise 
Lost. 

2  See  the  formula  of  cvocatio  (or  calling  out  the  gods  of  a  beleaguered 
city)  in  Macrobius,  Saturnalia,  iii,  9,  7-8. 


230  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

universe/  decided  in  favor  of  a  '  natural '  origin,  and  held 
that  if  the  'true'  (erfyu-o?,  etumos}^  or  original  meaning  of 
a  word  could  only  be  discovered,  we  should  at  once  gain 
an  insight  into  the  divinely  constituted  nature  of  the  thing 
which  the  word  denotes.  The  search  for  this  '  true  mean- 
ing '  (^eru/jiov,  etumoTi)  was  therefore  called  etymology,  or 
'the  science  of  true  meanings.' 

The  doctrine  of  the  Stoics  has  long  been  exploded,  and 
the  term  etymology  has  entirely  changed  its  sense.  Yet 
the  old  notion  dies  hard.  In  the  popular  mind  there  still 
lingers  a  haunting  suspicion  that  it  is  true,  and  accord- 
ingly one  often  hears,  from  the  pulpit  or  the  platform, 
and  even  from  the  professor's  chair,  serious  arguments 
based  on  the  supposed  original  or  essential  meaning  of 
this  or  that  word.  The  fallacy  of  such  reasoning  may 
be  illustrated  by  an  anecdote.  The  writer  recently  asked 
a  friend,  in  jest,  whether  a  particular  service  came  within 
the  functions  of  an  amanuensis.  '  Oh  !  yes,'  was  the 
reply,  'she  does  it  tvitli  her  hands!''  Now,  it  is  true  that 
amanuensis  comes  from  maniis,  '  the  hand  ' ;  yet  the  jocose 
remark  just  quoted  was  none  the  less  an  absurdity,  as, 
indeed,  it  was  meant  to  be.  The  Romans,  who  were 
accustomed  to  dictating  their  compositions,  designated  the 
slaves  who  wrote  for  them  as  servi  a  manu,  i.e.  '  writing- 
servants,'  for  manus  was  often  used  for  '  handwriting  '  (like 
our  ha7id}.  Later  they  made,  somewhat  irregularly,  a 
noun,  amafiuensis  (like  Atheniensis'),  and  this  we  have 
borrowed  in  the  same  sense,  and  in  that  sense  only. 
Hence  the  absurdity  of  drawing  from  the  general  mean- 
ing of  manus.,  'hand,'  any  inferences  as  to  the  projDer 
duties  of   an  amanuensis. 

Yet  similar    'etymological'    arguments   are    extremely 

1  See  p.  38. 


CONVENTIONAL   CHARACTER   OF  LANGUAGE       231 

common  in  serious  discourse.  One  can  hardly  take  up 
a  periodical  without  reading  that  education  is  derived 
from  L.  e-dilco,  '  draw  out,'  and  that  therefore  all  educa- 
tion must  be  a  '  drawing  out '  of  the  child's  faculties. 
Nothing  could  be  more  erroneous.  In  the  first  place, 
education  is  not  derived  from  e-daco;  and  if  it  were,  it 
is  absurd  to  suppose  tliat  the  first  Roman  who  used  the 
noun  educatio  had  any  such  sublimated  and  refined  idea 
of  education.  The  whole  argument  depends  on  the 
antiquated  doctrine  of  the  Stoic  etymon. 

Now,  the  fact  is,  that  the  Romans  compounded  the 
verb  daco,  'to  lead,'  with  e.r,  meaning  'out'  or  'up.' 
This  compound  educo  they  used  for  all  kinds  of  '  leading ' 
(in  distinction  from  agere^  '  to  drive  '),  and  particularly 
for  '  bringing  up '  from  the  Qgg  to  the  chicken,  or  from 
infancy  to  mature  years ;  always,  however,  with  personal 
objects,  that  is,  always  with  reference  to  the  creature  that 
was  'brought  up.'  As  educo  also  came  to  be  employed  in 
many  other  senses,  a  special  verb,  educo,^  was  made  for 
this  special  meaning,  and  later,  this  educo,  with  its  deriva- 
tive noun,  educatio,  was  applied  especially  to  the  '  training ' 
of  children.  We  may  believe  that  the  proper  method  of 
education  is  to  draw  out  the  latent  faculties  of  the  pupil, 
but  we  can  find  no  suggestion  of  that  method  in  the 
etymology  of  the  word  itself. 

It  is  equally  misleading  to  seek  for  light  as  to  tlie 
nature  of  the  religious  principle  in  men  from  tlie  ety- 
mology of  the  word  religion.  Yet  we  are  often  told  that 
the  very  name  of  this  principle  reveals  its  true  quality  as 
the  bond  that  unites  the  human  and  the  divine.     There  is, 

^  Educo  is  only  possible  as  a  denominative  verb  from  a  real  or  sup- 
posed noun,  ednx,  'one  who  brin.irs  up  or  rears,'  formed  from  the  same 
root,  DUO,  to  wliich  duco  belongs. 


232  WORDS  AND   TIlEIlt    WAYS 

to  be  sure,  a  bare  possibility  of  deriving  religio  (irregu- 
larly) from  religo,  '  to  bind '  ;  but  even  if  that  were  its 
origin,  the  sense  in  which  the  first  heathen  users  of  the. 
word  conceived  the  figure  could  not  throw  any  light  on 
the  central  principles  of  spiritual  life.  It  is  far  more 
likely,  however,  that  the  word  is  an  abstract  from  relego. 
This  is  Cicero's  own  derivation,  and  the  use  of  the  cognate 
words  undoubtedly  confirms  it.  The  verb  relego^  '  to  pick 
up,'  and  so  '  to  notice,'  '  take  cognizance  of,'  ^  is  com- 
pounded of  hgo^  'to  pick,'  and  red-,  'again'  (the  prefix 
being  used  somewhat  in  the  sense  of  re-  in  regard,  as 
we  also  have  it  in  respicio,  respecto).  It  undoubtedly 
meant  'to  notice  carefully,'  'to  observe  closely'  (cf.  dill- 
gens'),  especially  of  noticing  omens,  portents,  and  other 
divine  intimations.  Hence  we  have  religlosus,  '  inclined  to  ' 
this  action,  often  in  a  bad  sense,  '  excessively  so  inclined,' 
and  hence  'superstitious' :  compare  the  dictum  quoted  by 
Aulus  Gellius  (iv,  9,  1),  —  'religentem  esse  oportet,  religi- 
osum  nefas,'  'One  ought  to  be  scrupulous,  —  it  is  wrong 
to  be  superstitious.'  At  a  time  when  man's  connection 
with  the  gods  was  entirely  through  omens  and  the  like, 
it  would  be  natural  that  a  '  painful  regard '  (for  divine 
intimations)  should  be  'superstition'  or  'religion,'  either 
of  which  ideas  religio  expresses.  The  word  neglegere 
is  used  of  the  opposite  idea  (though  not,  like  relegere, 
without  an  object).  It  is  only  by  taking  into  account 
the  customs  and  beliefs  that  prevailed  when  a  word  was 
made,  that  we  can  have  any  just  conception  of  its  origin. 
Such  false  linguistic  doctrine  as  this  of  education  and 
religion  must  not  be  confused  with  a  proper  study  of 
'root-meanings.'     The  history  of  every  w^ord  begins  with 

^  Cf.  relegere  scripta,  'to  reread  writings' ;  relegere  litora,  'to  revisit 
the  sliores.' 


CONVENTIONAL   CHARACTER   OF  LANGUAGE       233 

its  root,  if  the  root  can  be  ascertained,  as  is  not  always 
the  case.  Yet  we  must  not  expect  the  root  to  contain,  as 
in  the  germ,  all  the  significance  that  successive  civiliza- 
tions have  attached  to  the  words  that  have  grown  out  of 
it.  We  should  never  forget  that  words  are  conventional 
symbols,  and  that  any  word  —  whatever  its  origin  —  bears, 
at  any  moment,  that  meaning  which  the  speakers  of  the 
language  have  tacitly  agreed  to  assign  to  it.  And  this 
meaning  may,  or  may  not,  have  a  direct  logical  connec- 
tion Avith  the  original  sense  of  the  root. 

This  principle  does  not  do  away  with  the  distinctions 
of  right  and  wrong  in  speaking  a  language.  The  purpose 
of  speech  is  to  express  one's  thoughts  so  that  they  may  be 
understood  by  others.  Hence,  the  consensus  of  usage 
determines  the  meaning  which  a  word  bears,  and  this  con- 
sensus is  governed  at  all  times  by  the  SpracligefiXld^  so 
that  a  language  always  remains  true  to  itself,  as  we  have 
had  occasion  to  remark  before.^  Within  the  limits  of  this 
feeling,  however,  hardly  any  influence  is  too  slight  to  j)ro- 
duce  a  variation  in  sense. 

1  See  pp.  126-7. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

GENERALIZATION    AND   SPECIALIZATION   OF   MEANl'NG 

Whether  in  literature  or  in  common  talk,  a  word  is 
never  the  exact  sign  of  an  unchangeable  idea.  Words 
are  not  mathematical  formulse.  The  character  ir  always 
represents  the  same  thing,  —  namely,  the  ratio  of  the  cir- 
cumference of  a  circle  to  its  diameter,  or  3.14159 +. 
There  cannot  be  two  correct  opinions  about  the  meaning 
of  the  symbol.  Take,  on  the  other  hand,  such  a  word  as 
hoy  or  man  or  hatred  or  virtue.  There  may  be  a  dozen 
opinions  about  the  applicability  of  these  terms  to  a  par- 
ticular person  or  quality.  Science,  it  is  true,  aspires  to 
absolutely  definite  nomenclature,  but  the  technical  denote- 
ments of  science  are  not  so  much  words  as  formulce  or 
hieroglyphics.  ■  At  any  rate,  they  stand  outside  of  the 
domain  of  ordinary  speech. 

We  need  only  consider  what  different  ideas  are  attached 
by  different  persons  to  father,  God,  ruler,  infidel,  wealth, 
honesty,  morals,  patriotism,  government,  to  see  tlie  inexact- 
ness of  separate  words  as  expressions  of  thought.  It  is 
only  when  words  are  put  together  and  'modified,'  when 
they  are  expounded  (by  the  circumstances  or  the  context, 
or  by  stress  and  modulation  of  the  voice),  that  we  can 
interpret  their  meaning  with  much  accuracy.  The 
Clown's  '  O  Lord,  sir ! '  in  Shakspere  was  a  good  answer 
to  all  the  remarks  of  the  Countess.^     We  may  try  the  same 

1  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well,  act  ii,  scene  2. 
234 


GENERALIZATION   OF  MEANING  235 

experiment  by  uttering  the  interjection  oh!  in  various 
ways.  It  will  readily  express  surprise,  indignation,  pain, 
terror,  joy,  compassion,  or  we  may  use  it  simply  to  attract 
the  attention  of  some  one  whom  we  wish  to  address. 

So  every  language  has  its  special  stock  of  words  that 
mean  little  or  nothing,  but  may  stand  for  almost  anything. 
They  are  the  counters  and  markers  of  the  game  of  speech. 
Such  words  are,  in  Modern  English,  tking^  affair^  business, 
concern,  regard,  account,  article,  circumstance,  fact,  state, 
condition,  positioji,  situation,  loay,  means,  respect,  matter. 
Each  of  these  may,  it  is  true,  be  used  in  a  pretty  definite 
sense,  but  they  are  also  extremely  common  in  the  function 
indicated.  We  infer  that  they  once  meant  something 
rather  definite,  but  have  gradually  faded  into  their  pres- 
ent vague  and  shadowy  condition.  And  such  is,  in  fact, 
their  history. 

Thus,  state  is  L.  status,  'the  act  or  manner  of  standing,' 
'attitude,'  'position.'  The  Latin  word  had  taken  almost 
all  the  senses  in  which  we  use  state,  general  and  particu- 
lar, except  that  of  a  concrete  'body  politic'  Ustate,  the 
same  word  in  an  Old  French  form,  was  formerly  an  abso- 
lute English  synonym  for  state,  but  is  no  longer  used  in 
either  the  political  or  the  vague  sense,  being  more  or  less 
appropriated  to  'property'  (abstractly  or  concretely),  and  to 
'condition  in  life.'  Status  we  have  borrowed  again,  intact, 
but  in  a  comparatively  limited  sense.  Position  and  situa- 
tio7i  are  similar  to  state  in  their  literal  meaning,  but  have 
not  faded  quite  so  much.  Posture  is  vague  in  'the  pos- 
ture of  affairs,'  but  preserves  its  literal  sense  in  most  con- 
texts. Conditio7i,  which  has  become  quite  as  vague  as  state, 
is,  literally,  'stipulation,'  'agreement,'  or  'terms'  (from 
L.  con-  and  dico').  Thing  must  have  had  a  somewhat 
similar  history.     Its  special  modern  sense  of  'inanimate 


236  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

object'  (usually  regarded  as  its  'real  meaning')  is  cer- 
tainly due  to  generalization.  The  Anglo-Saxon  noun  thing 
often  meant  'terms,'  and  also  'a  council  or  court,'  and  the 
verb  thingian,  'to  make  conditions,'  'to  arrange.'  So 
he-dingen  in  German.  Thing  was  the  Old  Norse  word 
for  a  legislative  and  judicial  assembly,  as  it  still  is  in  the 
Scandinavian  languages.  Thus,  the  Storthing  (or  Great 
Thing)  is  the  Norwegian  parliament.  The  word  is 
thought  to  be  cognate  with  L.  tempus,  'the  (fitting) 
time,'  'the  right  moment.'  If  so,  we  may  feel  confident 
that  the  oldest  sense  at  which  we  can  arrive  in  English 
is  'that  which  is  agreed  upon  as  fitting.'  From  the 
'terms'  of  a  bargain  to  a  concrete  'object  of  value'  is  a 
short  step,  —  and  from  this  to  'anything'  (actual  or  ideal) 
is  no  long  stride. 

Circumstances^  literally,  'things  that  stand  round  one,' 
has  become  so  vague  that  we  say,  without  hesitation, 
'under  the  following  circumstances.'  The  phrase,  it  will 
be  observed,  includes  three  inconsistent  expressions  of 
direction  or  position :  under^  after^  and  aromid.  Yet  we 
do  not  feel  the  inconsistency,  and  even  those  stylists  who 
prefer  '^w  these  circumstances  '  to  under,  rest  undisturbed 
by  the  contradiction  involved  in  following. 

Such  vague  counters  of  the  game  change  from  genera- 
tion to  generation.  Thus,  in  the  Elizabethan  time,  gear 
was  used  almost  as  we  use  thing  or  matter:  as,  'This  is 
fine  gear'  for  'a  fine  state  of  things.'  Similarly,  effect 
was  often  used  in  the  sense  oifact  or  act,  passage  for  'act 
or  action,'  as  in  Fluellen's  'gallant  and  most  prave  pas- 
sages at  the  pridgo,'  or  in  'passages  of  proof  for  'facts  of 
experience.'  Part  was  common  for  'deed'  (from  t\\Q  part 
or  role  one  plays  ^)  and  so  on.  On  the  other  hand, /aci 
1  Cf.  the  Latin  primus  {secundas)  partes  agere. 


GENERALIZATION  OF  MEANING  237 

itself  was  less  vague  then  than  now.  It  often  sici-nified 
a  'deed'  or  'act,'  —  especially  'wicked  deed'  or  'crime.' 

The  different  words  which  have  so  faded  as  to  be  mere 
synonyms  for  become  are  interesting.  The  old  verb  to 
worth  (A.S.  weorthan^,  cognate  with  Ger.  tverden,  has 
disappeared,  except  in  the  poetical  phrase,  '  Woe  worth 
the  day  ! '  {i.e.  'May  woe  happen  to  the  day  !  '),  a  curse 
used  as  an  exclamation  of  sorrow.  Become,  once  meaning 
'arrive,'  has  taken  its  place,  but  is  now  so  colorless  that 
other  more  vivid  words  have  been  summoned  to  its  aid. 
Thus  we  say:  'The  weather  grew  cold,'  '  He  turned  green 
with  envy,'  and  in  older  English  wax,  '  to  grow,'  was 
similarly  used,  as  in  the  biblical  '  Jeshurun  waxed  fat  and 
kicked.  '  ^  G-o,  which  has  long  been  common  in  such 
phrases  as  '  go  lame,'  said  of  a  horse,  is  somewhat  over- 
used by  recent  writers  in  expressions  like  'she  went 
white,'  '  he  went  stale,'  '  Old  Adrian,  penned  in  tlie  land- 
ing corner,  went  gray  of  face,'  and  the  like.  Cret  is 
another  synonym,  as  in  '  to  get  tired,'  and  Coleridge's 
'His  chariot  wheels  (/et  hot  by  driving  fast.'  It  is  pecu- 
liarly idiomatic  in  certain  phrases,  as  to  get  rid  of,  to  get 
angry. "^  Martinets  frequently  object  to  these  get'^,  because 
they  think  that  the  verb  must  always  mean  '  to  acquire,' 
but  such  an  objection  ignores  all  linguistic  principles,  as 
well  as  the  facts  of  good  usage. 

A  striking  example  of  '  fading '  is  seen  in  the  terms  for 
'existence.'  This  fading  is  demonstrable  in  all  the  words 
for  '  being '  in  our  family  of  languages,  except,  apparently 

^  Wax  is  one  of  those  curious  words  which  nobody  uses,  but  everybody 
knows.  Literature  (particularly  the  Bible  and  Shakspere)  still  keeps  it 
alive  in  its  general  sense,  and  it  is  specially  applied  to  the  increase  of  the 
moon. 

2  On  these  uses  see  C.  A.  Smith,  in  Publications  of  the  Modern  Lan- 
guage Association  of    America,  XV,  108-10, 


238  WOIIDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

in  is  and  its  cognates,  that  is,  in  the  group  of  Indo-Euro- 
pean terms  that  come  from  the  root  es.  In  fact,  it  is 
doubtful  whether  the  primitive  languages  liad  any  such, 
category  as  '  being.' 

Important  as  a  '  copula '  seems  to  us  for  predication,  it 
is  certain  that  such  a  tool  is  really  unnecessary,  and  that 
predication  can  be  and  is  constantly  performed  without  its 
aid.  The  mere  naming  of  an  object  is  a  true  predication, 
and  the  first  person  who  called  men  '  mortals '  asserted 
the  mortality  of  man  quite  as  effectively  as  the  logician 
with  his  '  All  men  are  mortal.' 

Further,  as  a  '  substantive  verb,'  the  ancestor  of  our  ajn 
and  is  (and  the  Latin  sum,  est)  must  have  meant  some- 
thing far  less  abstract  than  '  pure  existence '  when  it  was 
first  ventured  on  by  the  primitive  language-maker  of  the 
Indo-European  family.  What  was  the  sensuous  idea 
behind  these  words  we  cannot  nov/  divine,  whether  it  was 
'breathe '  or  'sit  '  or  one  of  a  thousand  others.  But  that 
there  was  some  sensuous  image  is  proved  by  the  analogy 
of  all  other  words  for  '  being,'  by  the  freedom  with  which 
adverbs  of  manner  have  been  used  from  the  earliest  times 
with  these  ES-verbs,^  and  finally  b}^  the  constant  effort  of 
the  poets  to  revivify  such  images  by  using  words  which 
actually  mean  something  (as  in  Sophocles'  ireXet,  Virgil's 
'  incedo  regina,'  Scott's  '  Breathes  there  a  man  ?  ').  There 
was,  then,  a  time  when  the  primitive  language-maker  did 
not  feel  the  need  of  an  er(/o  sum,  or  a  '  solvitur  ambulando,' 
or  of  Dr.  Johnson's  vigorous  action.  Some  sensuously 
observable  idea  was  implied  in  the  words  which  have  now 
faded   by   abstraction    into   mere    words  for   '  existence.' 

^As  in  '■  IIov)  is  he?'  'He's  not  very  well.''  Compare  the  colloquial 
•  I  am  nicely,  thank  you  ! '  So  in  Shakspere's  '  That's  verily  ! '  and  the 
Latin  bene  est. 


GENERALIZATION   OF  MEANING  239 

However  difficult  the  problems  of  ontology  may  be,  it  is 
as  idle  to  discuss  them  on  the  ground  of  words  as  it  would 
be  to  seek  the  Stoic  etymon  of  orh'r/lon  or  education  or 
amanuensis.^ 

Such  fading  is  demonstrable,  as  we  have  said,  in  all 
words  for  existence  except  those  from  es.  Thus  he  and 
the  Latin  fui  are  from  a  root  that  meant  '  to  grow,'  a 
sense  preserved  in  the  Greek  ^uw,  pkiio  (whence  pJiT/sical, 
physiology,  etc.),  which  also  was  sometimes  used  in  the 
faded  sense  of  '  be.'  Was  and  ivere  are  parts  of  an  Anglo- 
Saxon  wesan,  from  a  root  meaning  '  dwell,'  seen  in  that 
sense  in  Sanskrit  and  in  the  Latin  verna,  '  a  slave  born  in 
his  owner's  house,'  whence  veryiaculus,  '  native,'  and  our 
loan-v/ord  vernacular. 

The  fading  is  obvious  (because  not  so  prehistoric)  in 
our  stand  in  'it  stands  (=is)  approved,'  and  the  Italian 
sta  in  '  come  sta  ella  ? '  (from  stare) ;  in  Gr.  yLyvo/xat 
{(/igiiomai).,  'be  born,'  then  'become'  or  'be'  (cf.  L. 
gigno)  ;  in  our  many  synonyms  for  '  How  are  you  ? ' : 
'  Comment  vous  portez-vous  ?  '  '  Wie  geht's  ? '  '  How  goes 
it  ?  '  '  How  fare  ye  ?  '  '  How  do  you  do  ?  '  '  How  do  you 
prosper  ?  '  Compare  the  rustic  '  How  do  you  git  along  ?  ' 
made  popular  by  Artemas  Ward.  Exist  itself  means 
literally  'to  stand  out'  and  so  'to  come  into  view.' 

Sometimes  words  lose  almost  all  their  definiteness  in 
particular  phrases:  as,  'on  the  one  hand,''  'on  the  other 
hand,''  from  which  all  idea  of  hand  in  the  literal  sense  has 
disappeared.  It  is  doubtful,  indeed,  if  we  think  even  of 
the  right  side  or  the  left  side  in  using  these  phrases.  So 
also  '  in  the  first  place '  in  such  a  sentence  as,  '  In  the  first 
place,  I  do  not  like  this  street ;  in  the  second  place,  I  find 
the  house  disagreeable,'  where  the  phrases  mean  no  more 

1  See  pp.  230  ff. 


240  WORDS  AND   TTIEIR    WAYS 

than  'first'  and  'secondly.'  So  stanch  is  often  almost 
equivalent  to  is:  as,  'It  stands  recorded  on  page  253.' 
This  use  of  stands  was  much  commoner  in  the  Elizabethan, 
time  than  at  present.  It  is  well  preserved  in  'stands 
approved '  (p.  239)  and  in  the  antiquated  phrase  '  stands 
affected':  as,  'I  do  not  know  how  he  stands  affected 
toward  me,'  that  is,  how  he  is  affected  or  feels.  Compare 
also  the  following  three  phrases,  which  are  entirely 
synonymous  as  we  use  them,  though  a  moment's  con- 
sideration will  show  that  they  differ  widely  in  their  literal 
sense :  at  any  rate  (a  figure  from  reckoning) ;  at  all  events 
(however  the  matter  may  cortie  out  or  'eventuate');  in 
any  case  (in  any  happening,  that  is,  however  things  may 
befall  or  happen).  In  these  idioms,  ra^e,  events^  and  ease 
have  pretty  nearly  lost  their  meaning.  The  phrases  are 
all  synonymous  with  anyhow. 

The  last  result  of  this  fading  process  may  be  seen  in 
such  meaningless  ejaculations  as  well.,  you  know.,  you  see, 
dont  you  knoiv?  of  course,  without  which  conversation 
cannot  get  on  at  all.  Every  such  phrase  is  capable  of 
resuming  its  original  meaning  at  any  moment,  but  in 
ordinary  discourse  they  seldom  stand  for  anything.  They 
merely  fill  pauses.  Indeed,  they  may  be  called  the  punc- 
tuation marks  of  spoken  language.  With  persons  addicted 
to  profane  swearing,  oaths  and  curses  have  become  simi- 
larly colorless  to  the  speaker,  who  inserts  them  without 
regard  to  their  appropriateness  and  merely  to  emphasize 
what  he  wishes  to  say,  or  to  round  out  his  period. 

In  discussing  the  vague  and  even  meaningless  way  in 
which  some  words  are  used,  we  have  really  been  consider- 
ing extreme  cases  of  one  of  the  two  universal  tendencies 
of  all  language,  —  specialization  and  gene7^alization.  The 
operations  that  we  have  noticed  are  simply  generalization 


GENERALIZATION   OF  MEANING  241 

carried  to  its  last  results.  The  word  becomes  so  very 
general  that  it  ceases  to  distinguish  anything  in  particular 
from  ever3'thing  else.  That  is,  a  term  that  can  be  applied 
to  everything  means  nothing,  as  a  man  who  is  equally 
intimate  with  everybody  has  no  real  friends. 

Generalization  and  specialization  of  words  are  so  closely 
associated  that  they  can  hardly  be  treated  separately,  for 
there  is  scarcely  a  word  in  the  language  which  does  not 
show  the  results  of  both  processes.  As  we  have  seen, 
words  are  not  exact  signs  for  definite  and  unchanging 
conceptions  (as  are  the  formulpe  of  mathematics).  Every 
word  is  capable  of  covering  a  great  variety  of  conceptions, 
and  the  area  which  it  covers  may  be  vastly  enlarged  by 
the  adoption  of  senses  belonging  to  foreign  synonyms 
which  it  is  used  to  translate  into  the  vernacular.  Cir- 
cumstances and  the  trend  of  a  people's  thought  alone 
determine  whether,  in  its  commonest  use,  it  shall  include 
all  of  these  conceptions,  or  a  few  of  them,  or  shall  be  con- 
fined to  a  single  one.  And  since  circumstances  vary 
infinitely,  and  nothing  is  more  susceptible  than  language 
to  every  eddy  and  chance  whirl  of  popular  feeling,  we 
shall  expect  to  discover  in  many  words  a  complicated 
history  of  generalization  and  specialization  which,  if  we 
could  analyze  it  completely,  would  depict  the  intellectual 
life  of  the  race  in  no  uncertain  colors. 

We  may  illustrate  these  processes  in  two  common  words 
belonging  to  very  different  classes,  —  the  abstract  noun 
virtue  and  the  verb  tlirow. 

The  starting-point  of  the  noun  virtue  is  the  Latin  word 
virtus,  from  vir,  '  man.'  Virtus  meant  literally  '  manliness  ' 
in  general.  But  '  manliness '  is  not  a  simple  quality,  but 
rather  a  collection  of  qualities ;  and  one  of  these,  '  cour- 
age'  or  'prowess  in  war,'  was  so  important  in  the  eyes  of 


242  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

the  early  Romans  that  the  word  was  unconsciously  spe- 
cialized by  them  in  that  sense.  The  changed  circum- 
stances of  an  advancing  civilization  suggested  that  other 
good  qualities  are  always  associated  with  '  manliness,'  and 
a  need  was  felt  for  a  more  comprehensive  term.  Thus, 
doubtless  under  the  influence  of  Greek  culture,  virtus  was 
so  generalized  as  to  include  all  good  qualities,  as  in  our 
virtue.  With  reference  to  individual  objects  this  general 
sense  was  easily  limited  to  the  special  excellence  of  the 
object,  and  thus  virtus  was  used,  for  example,  of  the 
'  potency '  of  drugs.  A  particular  application  to  artistic 
merit  gave  the  Italian  virtu  (which  we  use  in  the  phrase 
'articles  of  virtH '). 

The  word  entered  English  from  the  French,  bringing 
with  it  the  general  ethical  sense  as  well  as  the  meaning 
of  'any  excellent  quality,'  moral,  mentrl,  or  physical. 
Hence,  in  the  Elizabethan  time,  it  was  a  virtue  to  dance 
gracefully  as  well  as  to  speak  the  truth.  The  tendency, 
however,  has  been  more  or  less  to  limit  the  application  of 
the  term  to  moral  excellence,  and  this  leads  to  frequent 
misconceptions  in  reading  our  older  authors.  There  is 
nothinsr  in  Enelish  to  remind  us  of  the  original  connection 
of  the  word  with  '  wawliness,'  and,  in  fact,  we  have  given 
it  a  newly  specialized  sense  with  regard  to  women, — 
'  chastity.' 1  A  somewhat  similar  history  may  be  seen 
in  vice,  from  L.  vitium,  '  a  flaw '  or  '  defect,'  and  in  moral 
and  immoral  (from  L.  snores,  '  customs,'  '  manners,'  then 
'character'). 

The  history  of  the  different  English  verbs  that  have 
successively  expressed  the  general  idea  of  '  throwing '  is 
equally  curious.     The  earliest  of  our  verbs  to  be  used  in 

1  Literally,  '  purity,'  especially  'ceremonial  or  religious  purity,'  'clean- 
ness of  hands.' 


GENEEALIZATION  OF  MEANING  243 

this  sense  was  irarp  (A.S.  weorpan)^  which  is  cognate  with 
the  German  iverfen.  Tlie  German  verlj  has  retained  its 
general  sense  of  '  throw  '  down  to  the  present  time.  The 
English  tvarp,  however,  was  ousted  by  east  (a  borrowing 
from  tlie  Scandinavian).  Warp  did  not  go  out  of  exis- 
tence, but  was  limited  or  specialized  to  a  particular  kind 
of  throwing.  A  piece  of  wood,  which,  in  drying,  throws 
itself  out  of  the  plane,  is  said  to  warp^  and  we  speak,  figu- 
ratively, of  the  warping  of  a  man's  judgment  by  prejudice. 
Thus  a  word  of  completely  general  signification  has  be- 
come extremely  special.  Cast  maintained  itself  for  a  good 
while ;  but  it  acquired  numerous  special  senses,  such  as 
'  to  compute  '  (to  cast  accounts),  '  to  lay  plans,'  '  to  mould,' 
etc.  The  effect  of  this  swarm  of  particular  meanings  was 
to  drive  out  cast  as  the  general  term  for  'throwing,'  and 
there  was  substituted  for  it  tUroti\  —  the  verb  which  we 
now  use.  This  substitution  of  tlirow  was  an  extraordi- 
nary case  of  generalization  in  sense  ;  for  tltrow  (A.S. 
thrdwan)  originally  meant  '•  to  turn,'  '  to  twist,'  and  was 
especially  applied  to  torture  ('to  rack';  cf.  torcpieo). 
On  being  generalized,  however,  it  lost  its  special  sense 
altogether,  so  that  we  are  no  longer  conscious  that  it 
has  any  connection  with  twisting  or  racking.  By  the 
time  that  tliroiv  ])ecame  the  common  word  for  the  general 
action,  our  language  was  so  fixed  by  literature  and  the 
schools  that  no  further  substitutions  seem  imminent.  Still, 
we  may  observe  in  tlie  untrammelled  language  of  boys  a 
strong  tendency  to  replace  tliroiv  by  some  word  that  is  less 
vague,  and  therefore  more  picturesque.  Thus  fire  (from 
gunnery)  is  popular  with  American  boys,  who  constantly 
speak  of  'firing  a  stone,'  and  sling  is  not  uncommon  in 
the  same  general  sense.  The  reason  is  not  far  to  seek. 
'  Throwing '  is  specially  connected  in  the  boy's  mind  with 


244  won  US  and  their  ways 

the  projection  of  a  missile,  like  a  stone  or  a  ball.  The 
boy's  ideal  missile  used  to  be  a  stone  from  a  sling,  but  is 
now  a  bullet  from  a  rifle. 

A  few  striking  examples  of  generalization  may  now  be 
considered.  Place  came  originall}^  (through  L.  platea)  from 
the  Greek  word  for  'broad,'  and  signified  a  '  wide  street '  or 
'  square  '  in  a  city.  It  is  now  our  regular  term  for  any  kind 
of  locality,  or  for  '  locality  '  or  '  situation '  in  the  abstract ; 
that  is,  it  has  become  about  as  general  as  a  word  can  pos- 
sibly be  and  still  retain  a  meaning.  Piazza,  the  Italian 
descendant  of  'platea,  still  means  '  a  square '  in  that  lan- 
guage ;  but  in  English  it  is  an  architectural  term  for  '  a 
roofed  arcade,'  and  in  the  United  States  it  is  often  used 
for  the  '  veranda '  of  a  house.  The  origin  of  both  mean- 
ings has  been  traced. ^  Covent  Garden  was  laid  out  as  a 
square,  Italian  fashion,  between  1G31  and  1G34,  with  an 
arcade  running  along  two  sides.  The  square  was  named 
'  Covent  Garden  Piazza ' ;  but  the  term  -piazza  was  soon 
applied  to  the  arcades  themselves,  and  this  gave  rise  to 
the  architectural  sense  which  it  still  has  in  England,  and 
which  was  adopted  in  this  country  some  two  hundred 
years  ago.  In  America,  however,  it  was  rapidly  extended 
to  its  present  meaning,  which  alone  survives,  though  the 
East  Indian  word  veranda  is  increasing  in  favor. 

Picture  meant  first  a  'painting,'  but  is  now  applied  to 
any  flat  representation  of  an  object  or  scene,  except  a 
mere  plan  or  diagram.  Thus  photographs,  pencil  sketches, 
and  drawings  with  pen  or  crayon,  are  all  included  with 
paintings  under  the  general  term  pictures. 

Religion  seems  to  have  originally  signified  a  'scrupu- 
lous regard  for  omens,'  that  is,  for  the  signs  by  which  the 

1  See  a  note  by  Albert  Matthews  in  The  Nation,  New  York,  June  1, 
1899,  vol.  LXVIII,  p.  41G. 


GENERALIZATION   OF  MEANING  245 

gods  commnnicated  their  purposes  to  mortals.^  Chris- 
tianity has  broadened  and  deepened  its  meaning  in  a  very 
striking  way.  Again,  the  adjective  religious,  in  the  Mid- 
dle Ages,  was  applied  solely  to  persons  who  had  taken 
some  special  vow  as  members  of  a  holy  order.  Thus 
monks,  friars,  nuns,  hermits,  and  palmers  were  'religious 
persons.'  A  layman  could  not  be  so  called,  however  pious 
he  might  be.  In  modern  usage  the  word  is  applied  to 
any  devout  person.  Miscreant  originally  meant  a  '  misbe- 
liever,' that  is,  a  person  who  did  not  accept  the  Christian 
faith,  —  a  Saracen,  for  example,  or  a  heathen.  It  is  now 
used  as  a  general  term  for  a  person  of  bad  character,  with- 
out regard  to  the  orthodoxy  of  his  opinions. 

Injury  once  meant  'injustice.'^  It  is  now  applied  to 
any  kind  of  harm  or  damage.  Indeed,  it  is  perhaps  com- 
monest in  its  application  to  physical  hurts.  The  Latin 
poena  meant  first  a  '-  fine,'  or  money  compensation  for  an 
offence,  but  was  generalized  to  comprehend  all  sorts  of 
punishment  (ef.  'pains  and  penalties,'  'pei7ie  forte  et 
dure ')  ;  and  our  p)ain,  its  descendant,  has  come  to  in- 
clude all  acute  bodily  or  mental  suffering,  whether 
inflicted  by  way  of  punishment  or  not. 

A  few  other  examples  of  generalization  may  be  briefly 
indicated :  layman  (originally  '  one  not  in  holy  orders,' 
now  often  applied  to  any  non-professional  man  or  'out- 
sider') ;  conduct  (originally  the  '  act  of  guiding  '  a  person  ; 
now  'the  way  in  which  a  man  conducts  himself  or 
behaves ')  ;  paper  (originally  a  substitute  for  parchment 
manufactured  from  the  papyrus  plant,  now  any  similar 
flexible  substance  used  for  the  same  purpose,  whether 
made  of  rags,  rice,  or  wood-pulp;   or  any  'document'); 

1  See  pp.  231-2. 

2  Cf.  the  legal  formula  damnum  absque  injuria. 


246  WORDS   AND    THEIR    ]VAVS 

wall  (originally  'a  rampart,'  L.  vallum;  now  used  of  any 
similar  structure,  whether  of  earth,  stone,  or  brick  ; 
applied  also  to  the  sides  of  a  house,  even  if  they  are  made 
of  wood)  ;  sail  (literally,  to  '  travel  in  a  vessel  propelled 
by  sails,'  now  applied  to  steam  navigation  as  well)  ;  street 
(literally,  'a  paved  way,'  strata  [via],  borrowed  from 
Latin  by  the  Germanic  languages  to  distinguish  the  great 
Roman  military  roads,  the  only  paved  ways  with  which 
our  ancestors  were  acquainted  ;  now  applied  to  a  definitely 
laid  out  road  in  a  city  or  town,  quite  irrespective  of  the 
question  of  pavement)  ;  apatlty  (a  Stoic  term  for  ideal 
freedom  from  domination  by  the  passions  ;  ^  now  vaguely 
applied  to  any  sluggish  condition  of  mind  or  body)  ; 
assassin  (originally  a  member  of  a  fanatical  sect  in  the 
East,  who  intoxicated  themselves  with  hashish,  and  com- 
mitted murders  for  the  glory  of  their  divinity  ;  cf.  thug)  ; 
scene  (originally  'a  tent';  then  the  booth  in  front  of  which 
the  actors  played;  then  a  permanent  structure  in  the  Greek 
theatre,  forming  the  background  of  the  stage  or  orchestra ; 
cf.  our 'behind  the  scenes':  now  used  in  the  most  gen- 
eral way  for  anything  that  lies  open  to  the  view  or  may 
be  taken  in  by  one  glance  of  the  eyes).- 

The  generalization  of  a  word  may  be  due  in  the  first 
instance  to  some  special  figure  of  speech.  Take,  for 
example,  our  use  of  hodij  as  applied  to  a  collection  of  per- 
sons—  as  'a  body  of  men.'  In  former  times,  philosophy 
liked  to  regard  the  individual  as  a  miniature  analogue  of 

1  See  p.  3'J. 

2  Doubtless  the  accidental  reseiublauce  of  this  Greek  word  in  its 
English  pronunciation  to  our  native  participle  seen  has  assisted  in  this 
enormous  extension  of  meaning,  though  a  somewhat  similar  extension 
has  taken  place  in  French,  where  of  course  no  such  cause  is  operative. 
Words  are  constantly  influenced  by  each  other  even  when  they  have  no 
etymological  connection.     See  Chapter  XXIII. 


GENERALIZATION  OF  MEANING  2-17 

the  great  universe.  The  universe  (^cosmos')  was  an  orderly 
system  on  a  hirge  scale.  A  man,  body  and  soul,  was  a 
similar  orderly  system  on  a  small  scale.  Hence,  man  was 
often  called  a  yjiicrocosm  ('  little  universe ')  as  opposed 
to  the  7nacrocosm  ('  great  universe  ').  Closely  connected 
with  this  idea,  which,  though  merely  an  analogy,  was  con- 
stantly used  as  if  it  enshrined  a  physical  truth,  was  the 
conception  of  the  state  as  a  kind  of  body  —  'the  body 
politic' — of  which  the  citizens  were  tlie  'members.'  So 
taking  was  this  figure  that  statesmen  often  argued  from 
the  behavior  of  the  human  body  in  health  and  disease  to 
the  larger  operations  of  government  and  society.  Thus 
Lord  Bacon  observed  that  inactivity  and  neglect  of  exer- 
cise make  a  man's  system  sluggish  and  generate  disease. 
From  this  he  chose  to  infer  that  long- continued  peace 
might  induce  a  diseased  condition  in  a  commonwealth, 
and  that  the  strenuous  exercise  of  war  was  then  needed 
to  restore  the  state  to  health.  From  this  use  of  bod?/  as  a 
figure  for  the  state,  it  was  easy  to  pass  to  its  employment 
for  any  collection  of  individuals,  whether  persons  or 
things.  Another  figure,  however,  assisted  in  the  develop- 
ment of  the  extremely  general  way  in  which  we  now  use 
this  word  for  aw?/  Jcind  of  collection:  'a  body  of  men,'  'a 
body  of  facts,'  'a  formidable  body  of  arguments.'  A  par- 
ticular codification  of  the  common  law  was  known  as  the 
corpus  juris,  because  it  collected  and  arranged  the  isolated 
facts  and  principles  in  a  systematic  order,  as  the  human 
body  is  an  assemblage  of  different  parts  working  harmoni- 
ously together.  From  '  body  of  law '  it  was  easy  to  pass 
to  'body  of  divinity'  for  a  systematic  treatise  on  theology, 
and  this  learned  figure  lias  contributed  to  generalize  the 
meaning  of  anybody. 

The  phenomena  of  specialization  are  no  less  important 


248  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

than  those  of  generalization,  and  they  are  perhaps  even 
more  striking  in  their  effects. 

When  a  word  is  equally  applicable  to  a  number  of 
different  objects  which  resemble  each  other  in  some 
respects,  or  to  a  vague  or  general  category  of  ideas,  it  may 
at  any  moment  become  specialized  by  being  used  to  name 
one  of  those  objects  or  to  express  07ie  of  those  ideas.  And 
if  this  particular  application  gains  currency  in  the  lan- 
guage, a  new  and  specialized  sense  is  the  result.  Thus, 
the  Latin  liquor  means  simply  'liquid,'  but  in  English  it 
often  designates  'ardent  spirits,'  and  in  the  French  form 
liqueur  \t  is  still  further  specialized  to  an  'aromatic  cordial.'^ 
Ballad  means  any  'dance  song,'^  but  it  is  frequently  used 
for  a  particular  kind  of  simple  narrative  poem.  Here  the 
tendency  to  generalization  has  also  been  operative,  for  the 
ballad  is  no  longer  confined  to  the  uses  of  the  dance.  The 
French  ballade  (also  adopted  in  English)  is  further 
limited  to  a  very  special  lyrical  form. 

Disease  was  formerly  used  for  any  kind  of  'discomfort.' 
Wedlock  is  literally  a  'pledge'  of  any  kind  (A.S.  tvedldc, 
a  compound  of  ivedd.,  '  pledge,'  and  lac,  'offering').  Ghost 
once  meant  '  spirit '  in  general,  —  not  specifically  a  disem- 
bodied spirit  appearing  to  mortal  eyes.  Poet  is  literally 
'maker'  (L.  foeta,  from  Gr.  iroirjTi]'?,  poietes),  but  it  was 
borrowed  by  us  in  the  special  sense,  so  that  we  cannot  use 
the  literal  meaning  to  interpret  the  English  word.  CJiarm 
is  carmen,  'song,'  in  a  French  form  (cf.  i7i-cantation 
en-chant).  Minister  in  Latin  means  '  attendant,'  'servant.' 
Affection  \\\QQa\t  'feeling'  in  Elizabethan  English.  Auction 
is  literally  'the  act  of  increasing'  in  any  way.      Tyrant 

1  Cf.  humor  (p.  30). 

2  It  is  frnm   Prov.  ballada  (ballare,  'to  dance '),  through  the  French 

ballade. 


SPECIALIZATION   OF  MEANING  249 

meant  simply  '  king  '  or  '  absolute  ruler '  in  Greek  ;  but  it 
was  specially  applied  to  one  who  usurped  the  rule  over 
a  democratic  state,  and  hence  it  has  gradually  come  to 
mean  '  a  cruel  or  irresponsible  monarch.'  Groods  is  literally 
'good  things.'  ^I/jth  is  merely  the  Greek  for  'story.' 
Focus  meant  'hearth'  or  'brazier'  in  Latin.  Crime  is 
L.  crimen^  'an  issue'  at  law,  then  any  'charge'  or  'accu- 
sation '  which  one  must  answer. 

Doctrine  is  '  instruction,'  —  now  specially  used  in  a 
theological  sense,  whence,  however,  it  has  been  trans- 
ferred to  scientific  and  philosophical  theories.  3Iansion 
is  '  residence  '  (L.  maneo^  mansus,  '  remain,'  especially  '  to 
stay  over  night ')  ;  cf.  tlie  German  Mesidenz  for  a  city 
where  the  sovereign  resides.  Pocket  meant  a  '  little  bag ' 
(cf.  poke^.  Meat  was  once  'food'  of  any  kind,  —  a  sense 
preserved  in  sweetmeat.  Spill  is  literally  '  destroy ' ;  the 
most  effectual  way  to  destroy  a  liquid  is  to  tip  over  the 
vessel  that  contains  it.  Stick  was  '  piece '  (as  in  Ger. 
Stuck').  Boom  was  formerly  any  'judgment'  (cf.  deemster 
'  judge,'  the  family  name  Demjjster,  doomsman.,  and  to 
deem).  Adventure  is  'that  which  comes'  or  'happens' 
to  one  ;  in  Chaucer  the  word  often  meant  simply  '  chance,' 
being  less  suggestive  than  fortune  of  a  personal  power. 

Coast  was  '  side  '  or  '  border,'  —  not  always  '  seacoast ' 
(it  is  French,  from  L.  costa.,  '  i"ib,'  'side').  Fahle  meant 
any  'tale.'  Fate  is  h.  fatum  (participle  oifari.,  'speak'), 
'  that  which  is  said,'  —  then,  '  the  utterance  of  the  divinity.' 
Chaos  is  the  Greek  word  for  '  yawning '  (from  %atW, 
ehaino,  'yawn'),  and  is  closely  related  to  chasm.  Deer 
was  formerly  any  'animal'  (cognate  with  Ger.  Thier). 
Lesson  (French,  from  L.  lectionem)  is  a  '  reading  '  (a  mean- 
ing which  survives  in  religious  services).  Fpos  (whence 
epic)  is  the  Greek  for  '  word,'  then  "story'  or  'song.' 


250  WORDS   AND    THEIR    ]VAYS 

Fond  is  fonned,  the  past  participle  of  fonnen^  '  to  be 
foolish,'  and  once  meant  '  foolish  '  in  general ;  it  was  then 
specialized  to  foolish  or  doting  affection,  and  that  sense 
has  in  turn  become  more  general  by  the  gradual  evapo- 
ration of  the  idea  of  'foolish.'  Dote  has  a  somewhat 
similar  history.  It  is  from  an  old  verb  for  'doze,'  'be 
stupid.' 

Sometimes  the  specialization  is  very  slight  but  ex- 
tremely significant,  and  in  such  cases  the  change  in  sense 
is  bafflinof  to  the  modern  reader  of  our  older  authors.  An 
amusing  instance  is  hint,  which  in  Shakspere's  time  meant 
'an  occasion'  or  'opportunity'  (from  hent,  'to  take'),  but 
which  now  carries  the  special  implication  of  '  the  inten- 
tional suggestion '  of  such  an  opportunity.  Thus,  when 
Othello  says  to  the  Senators,  in  describing  the  course  of 
his  wooing,  '  Upon  this  hint  I  spake,'  he  means  merely 
that  he  seized  the  occasion  unintentionally  afforded  by 
Desdemona's  naive  remark.  Yet  modern  readers  almost 
inevitably  understand  him  in  the  modern  sense,  as  if 
Desdemona  had  been  '  hinting '  that  an  offer  of  marriage 
would  not  be  unwelcome. 

The  manner  in  which  a  word  may  carry  numerous  spe- 
cialized senses  along  with  its  more  general  meaning,  and 
yet  no  confusion  arise  among  them  all,  appears  almost 
miraculous  when  one  takes  the  word  by  itself,  as  an 
isolated  phenomenon.  But  words  are  not  used  by  them- 
selves. It  is  their  different  combination  in  different  con- 
texts or  circumstances  that  enables  the  same  term  to 
symbolize  so   many  different  things. 

The  noun  2)la//  (A.S.  plega^  seems  to  have  meant  origi- 
nally '  motion '  (rapid  motion)  of  almost  any  kind,  —  a 
sense  preserved  in  technical  language,  as  '  The  piston-rod 
does  not  play  freely,'  '  the  play  of  the  valve.'     The  special!- 


SPECIALIZATION   OF  MEANING  251 

zation  to  '  sport '  or  '  game '  is  natural,  and  took  place  very 
early,  —  and  this  is  the  regular  sense  among  children,  who 
require  a  context  of  some  kind  if  they  are  to  understand 
the  word  in  any  other  way.  The  gambler  has  a  still  nar- 
rower limitation  of  plai/  as  his  regular  understanding  of  the 
word,  —  a  specialization  of  the  already  specialized  sense  of 
'frame.'  So  has  the  musician,  the  base-ball  or  cricket 
player,  the  actor.  This  last-mentioned  specialization  to 
the  drama  is  perhaps  the  commonest  of  all.  '  Are  you 
going  to  the  plaf/f  without  any  further  context,  would 
first  suggest  this  meaning  to  almost  anybody.  Probably 
plai/  in  this  sense  is,  at  least  in  part,  a  translation  of  the 
Latin  ludus.  It  affords  a  good  example  of  the  influence 
of  foreign  languages  in  giving  special  senses  to  native 
words,  even  when  the  corresponding  foreign  terms  are 
not  actually  borrowed. 

We  can  easily  study  these  processes  in  our  own  experi- 
ence, by  noticing  what  we  first  tliink  of  when  we  hear  the 
word  eiKjine^  or  macJdne,  or  ran<je^  or  register.  For  '  every 
man  is  his  own  specializer.'  Such  special  senses  are  de- 
pendent, mainly,  on  our  business,  profession,  or  chief  inter- 
est in  life,  but  in  some  cases  they  come  from  accidental 
associations  of  ideas  or  from  obscure  habits  of  thought. 
Machine  is  a  term  of  general  application  to  all  kinds  of 
mechanical  contrivances.  To  the  bicycle-rider,  however, 
it  suggests  at  first  the  particular  kind  of  mechanical  con- 
trivance on  which  he  is  in  the  habit  of  riding.  To  the 
seamstress,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  likely  to  suggest  at  first 
the  sewing-machine  by  means  of  which  she  gets  her  living. 
The  use  of  the  still  more  general  term  wheel  as  a  familiar 
synonym  for  bicycle  is  an  even  more  striking  example  of 
specialization.  Pump  calls  up  one  picture  in  the  mind  of 
the  country  boy,  another  in  that  of  an  engineer  in  cliarge 


252  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

of  a  great  system  of  waterworks.     Stone  suggests  to  the 
lithographer  the  lithographic  stone  ;  to  the  dealer  in  jewels, 
the  mason,  the  maker  of  tombstones,  the  workman  on  a 
macadamized  road,  the  epigraphist,  it  suggests  other  and 
quite  different   ideas,  though    the   fundamental  basis  of 
meaning  is  the  same  in  all  cases.      Cataract  means  one 
thing  to  the  physical  geographer,  another  to  the  oculist. 
Devil  conveys  one  meaning  to  the  preacher,  another  to  the 
printer.     The  laborer  engaged  in  laying  a  water-main  and 
in  smoking  his  '  T.  D.'  at  the  same  time  may  be  thought 
to  have  both  meanings  of  the  word  j^ij^e  equally  present  to 
his  mind  ;  yet  he  will  seldom  hesitate  as  to  what  is  meant 
if  the  'boss'  tells  him  that  'the  pipe  is  broken.'     Boss, 
by  the  way,  means  one  thing  to  a  workman,  another  to  a 
politician.      Cras  to  most  people  means  illuminating  gas. 
To  the  chemist  it  has  no  such  special  sense  ;  for  this  is  but 
one  of  a  thousand  gases  in  the  midst  of  which  he  lives. 
As  to  abstract  ideas,  we  need  only  mention  the  specially 
limited  senses  which  the  fanatic  assigns  to  religion,  tlie 
ward  politician  to  honesty,  the  pedant  to  scholarship,  and 
Mrs.    Grundy  to  j^ropriety.     If  men  enough  happen  to 
agree  in  any  such  specialization,  the  general  meaning  may 
go  out  of  use,  either  locally  or  universally,  and  we  have  a 
complete  specialization  of  the  word  itself.     3Iedvum  (Latin, 
'middle')  means  'anything  through  which  an  influence  is 
transmitted.'     To  the  Spiritualist,  however,  this  general 
sense  is  practically  obsolete,  and  the  word  exists  only  in 
a  rigidly  limited  application  to  the  persons  through  whom 
the  spirits  manifest  themselves  to  mortals. 

Specialization  frequently  results  from  the  omission  of 
some  adjective  or  other  modifier.  Thus  undertaker  once 
meant  simply  '  one  Avho  undertakes '  to  do  a  particular  job, 
a  '  contractor '  or  the  like  (cf.  Fr.  entrejyreneur  and  Ger. 


SPECIALIZATION   OF  MEANING  253 

Unternehmer')  .^  The  phrase  '  funeral  undertaker'  means, 
of  course,  a  '  contractor  for  funerals.'  Usually,  however, 
the  limiting  adjective  is  omitted,  so  that  undertaker  has 
acquired  a  very  special  sense.  Other  examples  are  :  duties 
for  port  deities  ;  fall  for  fall  of  the  leaf  ('  autumn  ')  ;  '  in  a 
predicament '  for  had  predicament;  p)light  for  had  j^H^^ht; 
success  for  good  success;  paper  for  neivspaper. 

It  is  often  impossible  to  discover  that  any  definite 
limiting  words  have  actually  been  omitted,  but  equally 
clear  that  specialization  has  been  accomplished  by  a 
similar  omission  or  ellipsis  in  thought.  The  omitted 
idea  need  never  have  been  expressed  in  plain  terms;  it 
is  enough  that  it  should  have  been  vaguely  present  to 
the  mind  in  a  general  way.  Thus,  suggestion  in  Eliza- 
bethan English  frequently  meant  '  evil  suggestion '  or 
'temptation';  hroker^  'a  go-between'  ;  practice,  'a  plot'; 
fact,  'a  crime.'  So  officious,  properly  'dutiful'  or  'ser- 
viceable '  (cf .  L.  officia,  '  good  offices '),  has  come  to  mean 
'too  forward  in  offering  one's  services.'  Wanton,  'spor- 
tive' (in  an  innocent  sense),  illustrates  by  its  change  of 


meaning 


How  mirth  can  into  folly  glide, 
»  And  folly  into  sin. 

Revel  carries   riotous   suggestions   which  it   had    not   in 
Chaucer's  day.^ 

Per  contra,  specialization  frequently  results  from  the 
omission  of  the  noun  and  the  retention  of  the  adjective 

^  This  meaning  survives  in  formal  language.  Tlie  special  sense  of  a 
'projector'  or  'adventurer'  (one  who  risks  his  capital)  seems  to  have 
developed  in  connection  with  the  colonization  of  America. 

2  It  has  a  good  right  to  them,  however,  being  really  the  same  word  as 
rehel,  from  L.  rehpllare,  'to  renew  hostilities.'  Eebel  is  the  '  learned '  and 
revel  the  '  popular  '  word  in  French. 


25-i  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

word  in  the  sense  which  the  whole  phrase  was  intended 
to  express.  Main  means  '  strong  '  or  '•  great,'  then  '  prin- 
cipal.' Its  Special  use  for  'the  sea'  comes  from  the 
omission  of  the  noun  in  the  phrase  'the  main  ocean.' 
Similarly,  main  was  formerly  used  for  mainland,  hut 
the  ambiguity  drove  out  this  sense,  leaving  the  clipped 
phrase  main  for  'ocean,'  and  the  full  phrase  mainland 
(made  into  a  compound  word)  to  designate  the  correla- 
tive idea.  Thus  many  adjectives  (or  nouns  used  adjec- 
tively)  have  become  pure  substantives.  A  natural  was 
once  common  for  'a  natural  (born)  fool,'  'an  idiot.'  A 
private  is  'a  private  soldier' ;  ix  general,  'a  general  officer.'' 
The  same  tendency  has  given  us  editorial  for  'editorial 
article '  or  '  leader,'  despite  all  protests  against  the  neolo- 
gism. A  lyric  is  '  a  lyric  poem '  (literally,  one  composed 
for  the  lyre).  The  Mediterranean  is  the  '  Mediterranean  ' 
or  '  midland  '  sea.  A  meridian  in  astronomy  is  '  a  meridian 
line,'  —  one  crossed  by  the  sun  at  noon  (L.  meridiaiius, 
from  meri-dies,  older  medi-dies,  'mid-day').  Its  use  in 
geography  is  due  to  a  transference  from  the  celestial  to 
the  terrestrial  sphere.  Terrier  is  for  cJiien  terrier  (L.L. 
terrarimn,  '  hillock '  or  '  burrow,'  a  burrow  always  imply- 
ing a  mound),  from  the  fondness  of  these  dog-s  for  huntino- 
animals  that  burrow.  Planet  means  '  wandering- '  :  the 
full  phrase  was  Gr.  aarrjp  irXav/jTi]'?  (aster  planetes'), 
'wandering  star'  (as  opposed  to  the  fixed  stars).  Cordo- 
van  or  cordwain  was  'leather  from  Cordova.' 

In  this  way,  the  material  of  which  a  thing  is  composed 
may  become  the  special  name  of  the  article  itself.  Thus, 
meerschaum  (Ger.,  ' sea-foam ')i  for  'meerschaum  pipe,' 
irons  for  '  fetters,'  glasses  for  either  '  spectacles  '  or  '  drink- 

1  3Ieerschaum  has  been  thought  to  be  a  corruption  (by  '  popular  ety- 
mology,' see  pp.  330  ff.)  for  myrsen,  the  Tartar  name  for  the  substance. 


SPECTALTZATION  OF  MEANING  255 

ing  glasses,'  tlie  glass  for  '  the  barometer,'  brasses  for  '  brass 
tablets,'  corduroys  (Fr.  corde  du  roi,  'king's  corcl').^ 

India  rubber  (gum)  overshoes  are  colloquially  known  as 
7'ubbe7's  in  some  parts  of  America,  as  gums  in  others.  The 
history  of  this  word,  ruhber^  by  the  way,  is  very  curious. 
When  caoutchouc  was  first  introduced,  it  came  in  thick, 
heavy  pieces,  and  was  used  chiefly  to  rub  out  pencil 
marks.  It  came  from  Brazil,  which  was  confounded  with 
the  West  Indies,^  and  thus  originated  the  name  India 
rubber,  often  shortened  into  rubber.  The  simple  word  is 
now  freely  used  as  an  adjective  or  as  the  first  part  of  a 
compound.  Recent  slang  has  coined  the  word  rubber-neck 
for  a  gaping  fellow  in  the  street,  who  turns  his  head  this 
way  and  that ;  and  still  more  recently,  this  term,  once 
more  cut  down  to  rubber,  has  become  a  general  word  of 
reproach,  used  especially  to  express  incredulity.  All 
this  slang  has  arisen  and  become  obsolescent  in  so  short 
a  time  that  it  affords  us  peculiar  opportunities  for  study- 
ing linguistic  processes. 

The  omission  of  the  noun  is  one  of  the  chief  means  by 
which  names  of  places  or  persons  become  names  of  things.^ 
The  object  may  be  called  after  the  place  whence  it  comes 
or  where  it  originates,  or  after  its  inventor,  or  a  'fancy 
name  '  may  be  applied  to  it.  When  the  noun  that  actu- 
ally names  the  object  vanishes,  the  descriptive  term  be- 
comes the  name  of  the  object  itself.  Thus  we  have 
mocha,  Java,  oolong,  madras,  calico  (from  Calicut),  japan, 
china,  Wellingtons  and  Bluchers  (kinds  of  boots),  a  mackin- 
tosh, a  basque  (tvaist),  n  jersey,  a  polonaise,  a  brougham,  a 


1  See  p.  15. 

^  Observe  that  West  Indies  itself  is  a  misnomer,  due  in  the  first  place 
to  geogi'aphical  confusion. 

»  See  Chapter  XXVI,  pp.  382-3. 


256  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

victoria^  a  surrey^  and  so  on.  Often  the  noun  is  kept,  as 
in  Concord  wctfjon,  Wellhir/ton  boots,  China  oranges^  James- 
town (corrupted  to  jimson)  tveed,  etc.,  and  this  enables  us 
to  trace  the  history  of  those  terms  in  which  it  is  omitted. 

We  need  not  suppose  that  all  such  designations  are 
clipped  forms  of  actual  phrases.  The  type  once  established 
by  means  of  this  process  of  omission,  other  such  names 
would  inevitably  be  formed  without  the  intervention  of 
the  phrase.  Thus,  the  sandwich  was  named  directly  after 
the  Earl  of  Sandwich,  and  the  spencer  after  the  third  Earl 
Spencer.  No  one  ever  said  a  '  Sandwich  lunch '  or  a 
'Spencer  coat.' 

One  of  the  commonest  transformations  in  lansfuasfe  is 
from  an  abstract  meaning  to  a  concrete.  Every  language 
has  machinery  to  make  words  signifying  qualities  or 
actions  in  the  abstract;  but  no  sooner  are  these  formed 
than  thousfht  tends  to  consider  each  case  of  the  occurrence 
of  the  quality  or  action  in  the  abstract  as  a  separate  entity, 
and  to  use  its  name  as  a  concrete  noun.  Thus,  heat,  cold, 
magnitude,  terror,  mercy,  Icindness,  ojyportuiiity,  propriety, 
and  the  like,  would  seem  to  be  only  abstract  names  of 
qualities  or  actions,  and,  consequently,  not  limitable  to 
a  given  case  or  admitting  a  plural ;  but  in  many  lan- 
guages we  hear  of  'the  heats  of  summer,'  'the  colds  of 
winter,'  '  greater  and  lesser  magnitudes,' '  the  terrors  of  the 
law,'  '  the  mercies  of  the  Lord,'  '  many  kindnesses,'  '  great 
opportunities,'  'the  proprieties.'  So,  also,  as  every  action 
may  result  in  a  concrete  entit}^,  the  name  of  the  action  is 
used,  by  an  easy  metonymy,  for  the  resultant  concrete  idea. 
Thus,  a  congregation  signifies  '  a  body  of  worshippers  ' ;  a 
legion  ('  levying  of  troops  '),  '  a  body  of  men  '  ;  provisions 
('a  foreseeing'),  the  'edibles'  prepared. 

One  striking  use  of  the  abstract  for  the  concrete  is  tlie 


SPECIALIZATION   OF  MEANING  257 

application  of  the  name  of  a  quality  to  a  person  or  thing. 
This  may  be  regarded  as  the  reverse  of  personification. 
In  personification  a  quality  is  spoken  of  as  a  person  ('  Vice 
is  a  monster ') ;  in  the  use  which  we  are  now  discussing,  a 
person  is  designated  as  if  he  were  the  quality  incarnate  : 
as,  —  'My  father  was  goodness  itself,'  'She  is  perfection.' 
The  Elizabethan  poets  went  very  far  in  applying  abstract 
nouns  to  persons.  Thus  Shakspere  uses  admiration  for 
'  wonderful  creature  '  ('  Bring  in  the  admiration  ' ) ;  Polyx- 
enes  addresses  Perdita  as  eyichantment,  meaning  that  she 
has  bewitched  his  son  by  her  beauty.  Juliet  goes  so  far 
in  her  excitement  as  to  call  her  old  nurse  '  ancient  damna- 
tion.' Though  none  of  these  phrases  would  be  possible  in 
Modern  English,  we  can  still  see  many  cases  of  the  appli- 
cation of  abstract  nouns  to  persons.  So  colloquially,  a 
man  may  be  described  as  a  '  failure,'  a  '  fraud,'  a  '  terror,' 
a  '  success,'  an  '  awful  warning,'  an  '  inspiration,'  one's 
'despair,'  or  'hope,'  or  'dependence,'  or  'aversion,'  one's 
'ruin,'  or  'destruction,'  or  'salvation';  a  child  is  'his 
mother's  joy  and  his  father's  hope';  Hamlet  was  'the 
expectancy  and  rose  of  the  fair  state.' 

There  is  one  form  of  expression  which,  though  not 
strictly  the  use  of  abstract  words  for  concrete,  is  yet  a 
peculiar  use  of  the  abstract  idea  by  which  it  is  substituted 
for  a  concrete  notion,  so  that  ultimately  the  same  effect 
is  produced. 

The  Greek  had  an  idiom  by  which,  when  a  j'crson  was 
to  be  mentioned  with  special  reference  to  one  of  his  quali- 
ties, an  abstract  noun  was  used  to  express  the  quality,  and 
the  name  of  the  person  was  put  in  the  form  of  an  adjec- 
tive or  a  genitive.  Thus  '  the  might  of  Hercules,'  or  '  the 
Herculean  might,'  was  practically  equivalent  to  '  the 
mighty  Hercules,'  but  was  felt  as  a  more  forcible  and 
s 


258  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

picturesque  expression.  This  is  really  not  unlike  what 
one  might  write  to  a  friend,  '  I  hope  your  exjjerience  will 
suGfii'est  a  solution  of  the  problem,'  which  would  be  natural 
in  English. 

The  Greek  idiom  was  imitated  in  Latin,  but  the  delicate 
elusiveness  of  the  Greek  was  lost  in  the  coarser  Roman 
mind.  Horace  says  more  crudely,  'virtus  Scipiadae  et  mitis 
sapientia  Laeli,' '  the  valor  of  the  son  of  the  Scipios  and  the 
kindly  wisdom  of  Laelius,'  when  he  really  means  no  more 
than  '  the  valorous  Scipio  and  the  wise  and  kindly  Laelius.' 

Later  the  same  '  figure '  got  into  prose,  as  courtesy  or 
servility  increased,  was  seized  upon  for  flattery,  and  took 
the  form  of  address :  as  in  '  tua  majestas,'  '  tua  serenitas,' 
which  finally  became  actual  titles.  Such  titles  multiplied, 
and  were  also  transferred  to  the  third  person,  so  that  we 
have  'his  Majesty,'  'your  Highness,'  'your  Excellency,' 
'his  Reverence,'  'his  Holiness,'  'his  Imperial  Majesty,'  'his 
Lordship,'  and  so  on. 

English  poetry  also  utilized  the  figure,  —  often  with 
superb  effect,  as  when  Milton  speaks  of  the  '  scaly  horror ' 
of  the  Old  Serpent's  tail,  meaning  his  '  horrible  scaly  tail,' 
and  in  Shakspere's  'deep  damnation  of  his  taking  off.' 

The  English  Bible  has  an  extraordinary  example  of  the 
same  kind,  '  spiritual  wickedness  in  high  places.'  ^  What 
is  meant,  as  appears  instantly  from  the  original,  is  '  wicked 
demons  of  the  upper  air.'  But  the  translators  have  sub- 
stituted the  abstract  wicJcedness  for  wicked,  and  used 
spiritual  for  '  of  spirits,'  thus  obscuring  or  completely 
changing  the  sense  to  the  mind  of  the  ordinary  reader. 

Hardly  anything  illustrates  better  the  continuity  of  our 
civilization  than  such  survivals  in  common  speech  of  what 
is  regarded  as  a  forcible  figure  in  Greek  poetry. 

1  Ephesians  vi.  12. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

SPECIAL  PROCESSES  IN   THE   DEVELOPMENT  OF  MEANING: 

RADIATION,    ETC. 

Everybody  has  envied  the  magician's  talent  of  being  in 
two  phxces  at  once.  Words,  in  the  development  of  their 
several  meanings,  seem  to  have  mastered  the  trick. 
Power^  for  example,  is  almost  ubiquitous  in  its  special 
senses.  Thus  it  may  signify  (1)  control  over  one's  sub- 
ordinates, sway  ('  the  power  of  the  king  ')  ;  (2)  delegated 
authority  ('  the  envoy  exceeded  his  powers ')  ;  (3)  physical 
strength  ('  all  the  power  of  his  muscles ')  ;  (4)  mechani- 
cal energy  ('water-power,'  'steam-power,'  'the  power  is 
shut  off')  ;  (5)  one  of  the  so-called  'mechanical  powers' 
(as  a  lever)  ;  (6)  moral  or  intellectual  force ;  (7)  a  per- 
son of  influence  ('  a  power  in  the  community  ')  ;  (8)  one 
of  the  great  nations  of  the  world  ('•the  concert  of  the 
powers ')  ;  (9)  a  mathematical  conception  ('  the  fourth 
power  of  6 ')  ;  (10)  an  'army'  or  'troop'  of  soldiers  (now 
obsolete  ;  but  cf./orce  and/or(?es) ;  (11)  an  effective  quality 
of  style  in  writing  or  oratory  ('a  writer  of  great  power'). 
Yet  in  all  these  vagarious  specializations,  the  'primary 
meaning '  of  jyoiver^  '  the  state  of  being  able '  to  do  some- 
thing (O.  Fr.  foiier^  modern  pouvoi)%  '  to  be  able,'  from 
L.L.  potere^')^  is  still  present,  so  that  we  may  almost  say 
that  the  word  accomplishes  the  feat  of  being  in  eleven 

1  Wliicb  supplanted  the  classical  posse  in  Low  Latin. 

250 


2G0  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

more  or  less  widely  separated   places  at  the   same   time 
without  ceasing  to  hold  its  original  position. 

The  phenomenon  is  familiar  enough.  One  finds  it  illus-. 
trated  on  every  page  of  a  large  dictionary.  Yet  its  sig- 
nificance is  disguised  by  the  necessary  limitations  of 
printing.  The  lexicographer  must  put  the  primary  mean- 
ing at  the  head,  and  arrange  the  others  below  it  in  an 
unbroken  series.  Yet  his  fifteenth  special  sense  may  bear 
as  close  a  relation  to  the  primary  meaning  as  the  fifth. 
It  would  be  more  logical  to  arrange  the  whole  article  in 
the  form  of  a  sunburst  or  a  starfish.  Radiation  is  the 
true  history  of  this  process.  The  simplest  meaning  stands 
at  the  centre,  and  the  secondary  meanings  proceed  out  of 
it  in  every  direction  like  rays.  Each  of  them  is  indepen- 
dent of  all  the  rest,  and  may  be  traced  back  to  the  central 
signification  as  if  there  were  no  other  derivative  meaning 
in  existence.  ^ 

Thus  in  the  case  of  poiver,  the  various  senses  may  be 
arranged  in  a  kind  of  diagram.     (See  p.  261.) 

Each  of  the  derived  senses,  it  will  be  seen,  might  easily 
have  developed  from  the  central  meaning  '  to  be  able ' 
without  regard  to  any  of  the  others.  Consequently,  any 
one  of  them  might  go  out  of  use  without  affecting  the 
others  in  the  slightest  degree. 

If  we  study  these  radiating  senses  of  power,  we  imme- 
diately perceive  that  they  do  not  all  come  from  the  central 
idea  by  the  same  process.  Thus  '  sway '  (of  a  ruler)  is 
mere  specialization.  The  sense  of  'effectiveness'  (in 
style)  is  both  specialized  and  figurative.  The  writer's 
diction  is,  as  it  were,  personified,  and  has  attributed  to  it 
the  ability  to  move  the  thoughts  or  feelings  of  his  readers. 
It  is  actually  the  writer  who  has  power,  but  the  idea  is 
iSee  A.  Dannesteter,  La  Vie  cles  Mots,  2d  ed.,  pp.  73-G. 


SPECIAL  PROCESSES 


2G1 


easily  ascribed  (by  transference)  ^  to  the  implement  by 
means  of  which  he  exerts  it.  Again,  when  a  man  is  called 
'  a  power  in  the  community,'  we  have  the  very  common 
use  of  the  abstract  for  the  concrete.  The  same  is  true 
when  a  nation  is  called  a  poiver,  or  when  the  term  is  applied 
to  a  lever  or  a  pulley.  Some  of  our  special  meanings 
might  be  derived  from  one  or  another  of  their  fellows 
rather  than  from  the  central  idea  of  'be  able.'  Thus 
'  mental  or  moral  power '  (No.  6)  may  be  a  figurative  use 


of  '  muscular  power '  (No.  3),  and,  more  probably,  the  con- 
crete sense  of  '  lever '  or  '  Avheel-and-axle '  (No.  5)  may 
come  from  the  abstract  '  mechanical  power '  (No.  4)  ;  but 
we  will  ignore  these  minor  considerations  for  the  moment. 
The  word  Jiead  affords  a  good  example  of  radiation. 
We  may  regard  as  the  central  meaning  that  with  which 
we  are  most  familiar,  — a  part  of  the  body.  From  this  we 
get  (1)  the  'top'  of  anything,  literally  or  figuratively, 

1  See  Chapter  XIX. 


262  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

whether  it  resembles  a  head  in  shape  (as  the  head  of  a 
cane,  a  pin,  or  a  nail),  or  merely  in  position  or  preeminence 
(as  the  head  of  a  page,  the  head  of  the  table,  the  head  of 
the  hall)  ;  (2)  figuratively,  '  leadership,'  or  concretely,  '  a 
leader '  (the  head  of  the  army,  the  head  of  the  school)  ; 
(3)  the  '  head '  of  a  coin  (the  side  on  whicli  the  ruler's 
head  is  stamped)  ;  (4)  the  '  source '  of  a  stream,  '  spring,' 
'  well-head,'  '  fountain-head ' ;  (5)  the  hydraulic  sense 
('  head  of  water ')  ;  (G)  a  '  promontory,'  as  Flamhorough 
Head^  Beecliy  Head;  (7)  'an  armed  force,'  'a  troop'  (now 
obsolete)  ;  (8)  a  single  person  or  individual,  as  in  '  five 
head  of  cattle ' ;  (9)  the  'main  points,'  as  in  'the  heads  of 
a  discourse'  (also  'notes'  of  such  points);  (10)  mental 
power,  'intellectual  force.' 

Here  again  there  is  no  reason  for  deriving  any  of  our 
ten  special  senses  from  any  other.  They  are  mutually 
independent,  each  proceeding  in  a  direct  line  from  the 
central  or  primary  meaning  of  head. 

The  main  process  of  radiation  is  so  simple  that  it  is  use- 
less to  multiply  examples.  We  may  proceed,  therefore, 
to  scrutinize  its  operations  in  certain  matters  of  detail. 

In  the  first  place,  we  observe  that  any  derived  meaning 
may  itself  become  the  source  of  one  or  more  further  deriva- 
tives. It  may  even  act  as  a  centre  whence  such  deriva- 
tives radiate  in  considerable  numbers,  precisely  as  if  it 
were  the  primary  sense  of  the  word. 

Thus,  in  the  case  of  head.,  the  sense  of  the  '  top '  of  any- 
thing immediately  divides  into  that  which  resembles  a 
human  head  in  (1)  shape,  or  (2)  position  merely.  And 
each  of  these  senses  may  radiate  in  several  directions. 
Thus  from  (1)  we  have  the  head  of  a  pin,  of  a  nail,  of  a 
barrel,  of  an  ulcer,  '  a  bud '  (in  Shakspere)  ;  from  (2)  the 
head  of  a  table,  of  a  hall,  of  a  printed  page,  of  a  subscrip- 


SPECIAL   PROCESSES  263 

tion-list.  And  some  of  these  meanings  may  also  be  further 
developed.  'The  head  of  the  table,'  for  instance,  may 
indicate  position,  or  may  be  transferred  to  the  person  who 
sits  in  that  position.  From  the  head  of  an  ulcer,  we  have 
the  disagreeable  figure  (so  common  that  its  literal  mean- 
ing is  quite  forgotten), '  to  come  to  a  head '  for  '  to  mature ' 
—  as  in  'his  plan  came  to  a  head,'  and  Prospero's  'Now 
does  my  project  gather  to  a  head '  in  The  Tempest. 

Sense  No.  2,  the  '  forefront '  of  a  body  of  persons,  the 
'leader,'  cannot  be  altogether  separated  from  No.  1.  But 
it  may  come  perfectly  well  from  the  central  meaning.  In 
every  animal  but  man  the  head  actually  precedes  the  rest 
of  the  body  as  the  creature  moves.  At  all  events,  the 
sense  of  '  leadership '  or  '  leader '  (it  is  impossible  to  keep 
them  apart)  has  given  rise  to  an  infinity  of  particular 
applications  and  idiomatic  phrases.  The  head  of  a  proces- 
sion, of  an  army,  of  a  class,  of  a  revolt,  of  a  '  reform  move- 
ment,' of  a  new  school  of  philosophy — these  phrases  all 
suggest  personal  leadership,  but  in  different  degrees  and 
very  various  relations  to  the  persons  who  are  led,  so  that 
they  may  all  be  regarded  as  radiating  from  a  common 
centre. 

By  a  succession  of  radiations  the  development  of  mean- 
ings may  become  almost  infinitely  complex.  No  dictionary 
can  ever  register  a  tithe  of  them,  for,  so  long  as  a  language 
is  alive,  every  speaker  is  constantly  making  new  special- 
ized applications  of  its  words.  Each  particular  definition 
.  in  the  fullest  lexicon  represents,  after  all,  not  so  much  a 
single  meaning  as  a  little  group  of  connected  ideas,  uncon- 
sciously agreed  upon  in  a  vague  way  by  the  consensus  of 
those  who  use  the  lansfuage.  The  limits  of  the  definition 
must  always  be  vague,  and  even  within  these  limits  there 
is  large  scope  for  variety. 


264  WOBTJS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

If  the  speaker  does  not  much  transgress  these  limits  in 
a  given  instance,  we  understand  his  meaning.  Yet  we  do 
not  and  cannot  see  all  the  connotations  which  the  word 
has  in  the  speaker's  mind.  He  has  given  us  a  conven- 
tional sign  or  symbol  for  his  idea.  Our  interpretation  of 
the  sign  will  depend  partly  on  the  context  or  the  circum- 
stances, partly  on  what  we  know  of  the  speaker,  and 
partly  on  the  associations  which  we  ourselves  attach  to 
the  word  in  question.  These  considerations  conduct  us, 
once  more,  to  the  principle  on  which  we  have  so  often 
insisted.  Once  more  we  are  forced  to  admit  that  lan- 
guage, after  all,  is  essentially  poetry.  For  it  is  the 
function  of  poetry,  as  Sainte  Beuve  says,  not  to  tell  us 
everything,  but  to  set  our  imaginations  at  work :  '  La 
poesie  ne  consiste  pas  a  tout  dire,  mais  a  tout  faire  rever.' 

Besides  the  complexity  that  comes  from  successive 
radiation,  there  is  a  perpetual  exchange  of  influences 
among  the  meanings  themselves.  Thus  when  we  speak 
of  a  man  as  the  '  intellectual  head  of  a  movement,'  head 
means  '  leader '  (No.  3),  but  has  also  a  suggestion  of  the 
tenth  sense,  'mind.'  If  two  very  different  senses  of  a 
word  are  present  to  the  mind  at  the  same  moment,  the 
result  is  a  pun,  intentional  or  unintentional.  If  the  senses 
are  subtly  related,  so  that  they  enforce  or  complement  each 
other,  our  phrase  becomes  imaginatively  forcible,  or,  in 
other  words,  recognizable  poetry  as  distinguished  from  the 
unconscious  poetry  of  language. 

So,  too,  the  sudden  re-association  of  a  derived  sense  with 
the  central  meaning  of  the  word  may  produce  a  consider- 
able change  in  the  effect.  Head  for  '  leader '  is  no  longer 
felt  as  metaphorical,  and  so  of  several  other  of  the  radiat- 
ing senses  of  this  word.  Yet  it  may,  at  any  moment,  flash 
back  to  the  literal  meaning,  and  be  revivified  as  a  conscious 


SPECIAL  PROCESSES  265 

metaphor  for  the  nonce.  '  He  is  not  the  head  of  his  party, 
but  their  mask '  ;  *■  The  leader  fell,  and  the  crowd  was  a 
body  Avithout  a  head.'' 

Radiation  is  a  very  simple  process,  though  its  results 
may  become  beyond  measure  complicated.  It  consists 
merely  in  divergent  specialization  from  a  general  centre. 
It  is  always  easy  to  follow  the  spokes  back  to  the 
hub. 

Quite  different  is  the  next  process  that  we  have  to 
study,  in  which  a  word  moves  gradually  away  from  its 
first  meaning  by  successive  steps  of  alternate  specialization 
and  generalization  until,  in  many  cases,  there  is  not  a 
shadow  of  connection  between  the  sense  that  is  finally 
developed  and  that  wliich  the  term  bore  at  the  outset. 
The  history  of  many  such  words  is  well  ascertained.  If 
the  evidence  is  fragmentary,  however,  the  etymologist  is 
often  baffled  in  his  attempts  to  reconstruct  it.^ 

We  have  already  observed  that  a  word  may  get  a  new 
meaning  by  the  addition  of  a  modifying  idea  (expressed 
or  implied)  to  the  old  one.^  Thus  congregation  means 
simply  an  'assembly'  of  any  kind,  but  it  has  developed 
the  special  sense  of  an  'assembly  gathered  for  worship.' 
Here  we  may  represent  the  first  meaning  ('  assembly ')  by 
A,  and  the  modifjdng  limitation  ('  religious ')  by  B  ;  the 
new  meaning  will  be  A  +  B,  the  sum  of  the  two  ele- 
ments. 

So  far  the  process  is  simple  enough;  but  the  process 
may  not  stop  with  A  -\-  B.  Thus  L.  candldatus  (whence 
our  cayididate')  meant  'a  person  dressed  in  white '  (^); 
then,  '  a  white-robed  seeker  for  office '  (vl  +  i?),  from  the 
Roman  custom  of  wearing  one's  freshest  robes  when  ask- 

r  1  Cf.  A.  Darmesteter,  La  Vie  ties  Mots,  '2d  ed.,  pp.  70  ii. 

2  See  p.  253. 


266  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

ing  the  suffrages  of  the  people ;  in  our  candidate,  all  idea 
of  'white  attire'  {A}  has  disappeared,  leaving  only  the 
sense  of  'an  applicant  for  office'  {B),  which  has  no 
obvious  connection  with  the  first  meaning  of  the  word. 

Again  cheater  meant  first  'an  officer  who  attended  to 
escheats,'  'an  escheator'  (J.);  then  'an  escheator  who 
was  dishonest '  (A  +  B);  and  finally  (by  loss  of  J.),  a 
'dishonest  person'  (B).  Squire  is  (A)  'shieldman'  Qscu- 
tarius) ;  then  (A  -\-  B)  '  shield-bearer '  who  attends  on  a 
knight;  then  (^)  'attendant  on  a  knight'  (without  ref- 
erence to  the  carrying  of  a  shield).  Tally  li^  {A)  'cut- 
ting'; then  {A  +  B)  a  cutting  of  notches  to  keep  an 
account ;  then  (^)  '  an  account,'  whether  kept  by  notched 
sticks  or  otherwise.  Score  is  (J.)  'a  notch'  or  'cut'; 
(^A  -f  B)  a  notch  or  mark  to  indicate  a  charge  or  compu- 
tation; then  (^B)  'a  bill  or  account'  (without  reference  to 
cuts  or  notches). 

None  of  the  examples  cited  lias  wandered  far  from  its 
first  sense.  The  development  is  still  very  simple,  and  the 
chain  of  meanings  is  easy  to  follow.  But  the  process  may 
continue  until  all  logical  connection  disappears  and  we 
find  ourselves  wondering  how  a  single  word  has  come  to 
stand  for  such  disconnected  and  even  inconsistent  ideas. 
Treacle  is  undoubtedly  derived  from  the  Greek  0j]piaK6v 
(t]ieriak6)i),  'pertaining  to  a  wild  beast.'  It  now  means 
'sugar  syrup'  or  'molasses.'  If  we  were  ignorant  of  the 
history  of  the  word,  we  should  be  at  a  loss  to  account  for 
this  peculiar  state  of  things  ;  but  the  process  which  we  are 
studying  explains  tlie  apparent  anomaly  as  a  natural 
development.  The  Greek  word  theriak6n,  '  pertaining  to 
a  wild  beast,'  may  be  called  A.  From  this  there  arises 
the  modified  sense,  'a  remedy  for  the  bite  of  a  wild  animal 
(^A  +  B).     The    next    step  is  to  reject  A  altogether,  so 


SPECIAL   PBOCESSES  267 

that  treacle  comes  to  mean  any  'antidote'  or  'sovereign 
remedy'  {B).  Now  ancient  remedies  were  frequently 
put  up  in  the  form  of  electuaries  or  thick  syrups.  Thus 
B,  ' a  remedy,'  developed  into  B  -\-  C,  'a  remedy  in  the 
form  of  a  syrup. ^  This  meaning  is  treated  precisely  as 
A  +  B  was  treated.  B  is  rejected  and  only  C,  '  a  syrup,' 
remains.  By  this  time  there  is  no  connection  at  all  be- 
tween C,  '  a  syrup,'  and  A,  '  pertaining  to  a  wild  beast,' 
since  the  middle  term  B^  'a  remedy,'  has  vanished  alto- 
gether, and  it  was  only  this  middle  term  that  connected  0 
with  A. 

The  process  may  be  graphically  represented.     Thus:  — 

pertaining  to  a  wild  beast, 
remedy  for  a  wild  beast's  bite, 
antidote  or  remedy  in  general, 
remedy  in  the  form  of  a  syrup, 
syrup  in  general. 

At  any  stage  of  the  process,  a  meaning  is  capable  of 
being  treated  as  if  it  were  the  original  sense  of  the  word. 
Thus  when  treacle  had  come  to  mean  '  a  remedy '  in  general 
(^),  and  people  had  forgotten  that  it  had  anything  to  do 
with  the  bite  of  an  animal,  it  was  used  (1)  literally,  for 
the  '  antidote '  to  any  poison,  and  (2)  figuratively,  of  that 
which  relieves  one's  sorrow,  a  '  comfort '  or  '  consolation ' ; 
and  finally  (3)  of  a  personal  comforter.  So  Chaucer  speaks 
of  Christ  as  'treacle  of  every  harm,'  i.e.  a  sovereign  remedy 
for  every  grief.  Again,  the  general  simplified  meaning 
'syrup'  (O  has  been  affected  by  radiation,  so  that,  in 
modern  usage,  treacle  is  a})plied  indifferently  to  the  'spume 
of  sugar,'  to  'maple  syrup,'  and  to  'molasses.' 

The  paradoxical  effects  of  the  A  +  B  process,  as  well  as 
the  complications  that  result  from  its  working  in  combi- 


1. 

A 

2. 

A  +  B 

3. 

B 

4. 

B  +  C 

5. 

r^ 

268  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

nation  with  other  linguistic  forces,  may  be  studied  in  the 
extremely  interesting  words  parson  and  pe7^son,  which 
are  simply  variants  of  the  same  word,  like  cla?'k  and 
clerk.^ 

The  Latin  i^ersona  means  properly  '  a  mask,'  such  as  the 
ancient  actors  wore.^  This  meaning  we  may  call  A.  Such 
masks  were  typical  of  various  jjarts  or  7'6les,  and  thus  arises 
A+B,  'a  dramatic  character  as  indicated  by  the  appropri- 
ate mask.'  Then  A  disappears  and  B  remains,  so  that 
persona  meana  'a  character  or  roZe  in  a  play.'  To  ^  is 
then  added  a  further  modifier  (C),  'one  who  represents,' 
and  we  have  ^  +  (7,  '  one  who  represents  a  dramatic  char- 
acter,' '  one  who  takes  a  role.'  Next  B  disappears,  so  that 
persona  means  merely  '  a  representative.'  0  is  then  modi- 
tied  by  the  addition  of  '  the  church '  (-Z)),  and  we  get 
C  + 1),  'the  representative  of  the  church  Qp>ersona  ec- 
desiae')  in  a  parish.'  Finally  the  main  idea  of  0  ('repre- 
sentative ')  disappears,  and  p)arson  in  the  seiise  of  '  parish 
priest '  results.  The  relation  between  a  mask  and  a  cure 
would  be  unintelligible  (except  on  grounds  of  satirical 
humor)  if  we  could  not  trace  the  word  step  by  step. 


1. 

A 

mask. 

0_ 

A  +  B 

character  indicated  by  mask. 

3. 

B 

character  or  role  (in  play). 

4. 

B  +  C 

one  who  represents  a  cliaracter. 

5. 

C 

representative  in  general. 

0. 

C  +  I) 

representative  of  church  in  parish. 

7. 

D 

parson. 

1  Clark  is  preserved  only  as  a  proper  name.  Cleric  is  pronounced  dark 
in  England,  but  clerk  (e  as  in  fern)  in  America,  though  the  other  pro- 
nunciation is  well  known,  and  may  still  be  heard  occasionally  from  old 
people.     For  the  etymology,  see  p.  44. 

-Per-,  'through,'  and  f^onare,  'to  sound,'  since  the  actor  'talked 
tlirough'  the  lai'ge  mouth  of  his  mask. 


SPECIAL    PROCESSES  269 

This  whole  development  took  place  in  Latin,  whence  the 
word  was  borrowed  (under  French  influence)  as  persoun, 
the  form  which  Chaucer  uses. 

Meantime  persona  had  taken  another  course.  From  B, 
'  dramatic  part '  or  '  role,'  had  come  (in  classic  Latin)  the 
figurative  meaning  of  the  '  part '  or  '  character '  which  one 
sustains  in  the  world,  and  then,  by  transference  and  fading 
out  of  the  metaphor,  a  '  personage '  or  '■  person '  in  the 
modern  sense. 

In  English  the  old  persoim  has  split  into  two  words,^ 
which  are  not  felt  by  most  speakers  as  having  any  con- 
nection in  sense  or  etymology.  Parson  is  reserved  for  the 
ecclesiastical  sense,  and  person  is  used  for  'bodily  form'  or 
for  '  human  being '  in  general.  It  has  lately  acquired  a 
somewhat  slighting  connotation,  which,  however,  is  not 
always  felt.  Tlie  form  person  is  habitually  associated  with 
persona  by  everybody  who  has  any  acquaintance  with  Latin, 
which  in  part  accounts  for  its  pronunciation.  Parson  is  a 
phonetic  spelling  of  the  Middle  English  word.  For  'char- 
acters in  a  play '  we  have  borrowed  the  Latin  phrase 
dramatis  personae,  which  is  to  all  intents  and  purposes 
an  English  term. 

Strange  transformations  of  meaning  may  come  by  the 
simple  and  natural  process  of  applying  the  name  of  an 
object  to  something  else  which  resembles  it  or  is  used 
for  the  same  purpose.  The  progress  of  invention  makes 
this  process  very  common  in  the  names  of  utensils  and 
the  like.  Pen  (L.  penna)  is  originally  a  'feather.' 
The  name  was  appropriately  applied  to  pens  so  long- 
as  quills  were  used  for  writing.  It  is  kept,  however, 
for  various  modern  implements  (steel  pens,  gold  pens, 
stylographic  pens)  which  have  replaced  feathers  in  this 

1  Cf.  pp.  355-7. 


270  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

function. 1  The  change  is  comparatively  slight  in  tliis 
instance,  since  steel  pens  actually  resemble  quills.  Pencil 
is  more  noteworthy.  The  word  was  borrowed  from  L. 
peniciUus,  and  meant  a  fine  painter's  brush,  made  of  fur, 
hair,  or  bristles,  like  a  'camel's-hair  pencil.'  Penicillus 
is  a  diminutive  of  pe7iiculus,  'a  little  tail,'  such  as  was 
used  by  the  Romans  for  purposes  of  cleaning,  as  we  use 
brushes  or  brooms.  From  '  a  painter's  brush,'  the  name 
pencil  was  passed  along  to  a  marking  instrument  made  of 
lead ;  hence  the  term  lead-pencil,  which  we  now  apply  to 
a  stick  of  graphite  enclosed  in  wood,  where  there  is  really 
neither  lead  nor  pencil. 

Cliimney  comes  (through  the  French)  from  L.  caminus, 
a  'forge'  or  'smelting-furnace.'  It  came  to  be  used  for 
any  '  fireplace '  (the  earliest  sense  in  English),  then,  in 
particular,  for  the  'smoke  flue.'  Lamp-cldmnetj  shows  a 
further  narrowing  in  sense. 

Chandelier  (from  L.  candelahruni).,  'a  receptacle  for 
candles,'  has  been  so  extended  as  to  include  gas-jets  and 
electric  lights.  Scales  (from  L.  scala^  '  a  ladder ')  now 
means  '  a  weighing  instrument,'  from  the  graduated  marks 
on  the  beam  of  the  balance,  which  suggest  the  equidistant 
rounds  of  a  ladder.  It  has  also  been  extended  to  musical 
scales. 

A  capital  example  of  the  shifting  process  is  seen  in  hand- 
kerchief. A  small  piece  of  cloth  to  cover  the  head  was 
naturally  enough  (iQ\\Q(\.iicoverchef  {O.  Fr.  couvre-chef;  chef 
from  L.  capuf)  or  kerchief  (cf.  curfew').  When  fashion 
decreed  that  a  somewhat  similar  piece  should  be  carried  in 
the  hand,  handkerchief  was  coined,  with  no  thought  of  the 
literal  sense  of  kerchief  The  next  step  was  pocket-hand- 
kerchief which  is  literally,  it  will  be  observed,  a  thing  to 

1  The  same  thing  has  happened  to  the  German  Feder. 


SPECIAL   PROCESSES  271 

cover  the  head,  to  be  carried  in  the  hand,  to  be  put  in  the 
pocket. 

The  history  of  raih'oading  iUustrates  the  point  in  ques- 
tion remarkably  welL  English  and  American  railroads 
developed  independently,  and  long  after  the  separation  of 
the  colonies  from  the  mother-country.  The  special  vo- 
cabulary, therefore,  differs  widely  in  the  two  countries. 
In  Great  Britain,  coaching  terms  were  utilized.  Hence 
we  find  coaches,  drivers,  guards,  and  booking-offices  in 
England,  but  cars,  engineers,  conductors,  and  ticket-offices 
in  the  United  States.  Booking-office  is  a  particularly 
interesting  transference.  It  was  originally  the  bureau  at 
which  one  entered  or  'booked'  one's  name  in  advance, 
in  order  to  secure  a  place  in  the  coach.  Many  of  the 
differences  between  the  language  of  England  and  that  of 
America  depend,  in  like  manner,  on  the  independent  de- 
velopment of  industries  or  occupations  in  the  two  countries. 
Compare  lift  with  elevator,  tram  with  horse-car  (or  electric 
car'),  parish  council  with  selectmen,  and  so  on.  The  investi- 
gation of  such  divergences  is  a  matter  of  much  interest, 
but  has  usually  been  pursued  in  a  somew^hat  perfunctory 
way,  with  little  regard  to  linguistic  principles.  The  con- 
servative tendency  to  retain  familiar  terms  in  a  new  appli- 
cation is  probably  stronger  in  England  than  in  America. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

TRANSFERENCE   OF   MEANING 

The  Romans  had  a  proverb,  'Everything  has  two 
handles ' ;  and  nowhere  is  this  more  true  than  in  mental 
conceptions  and  the  words  that  express  them.  Almost 
every  conception  has  two  aspects;  (1)  that  of  the  person 
or  thing  that  possesses  or  exercises  it ;  (2)  that  of  the 
person  or  thing  that  is  affected  by  it.  This  difference 
between  the  active  agent  and  the  effect  produced,  between 
the  cause  and  that  which  it  causes,  between  the  subjective 
and  the  objective,  is  very  great  indeed.  But,  obvious  as 
it  seems,  it  has  been  slow  to  arise  in  the  consciousness  of 
the  race.  In  the  Latin  vocabulary,  to  which  we  are  so 
deeply  indebted,  little  account  is  made  of  this  fundamental 
distinction,  so  that  the  same  word  is  often  used  indiffer- 
ently for  either  side  of  the  conception.  Thus  the  Latin 
opinio  means  both  opinion  (from  the  point  of  view  of  him 
who  has  it)  and  7'eputatlon  (from  the  point  of  view  of 
him  concerning  whom  it  is  held)  ;  and  the  same  is  true 
of  the  English  word  opinion  in  Shakspere.  Nothing 
could  be  more  natural,  for  '  my  opinion  of  Richard  Roe ' 
is  of  course  identical  with  'Roe's  rsputation  with  me.' 
The  difference  is  simply  in  the  person  from  whose  point 
of  view  the  conception  is  regarded.  As  time  goes  on, 
however,  we  feel  more  and  more  that,  although  ophiion 
and  reputation  are  the  same  thing,  yet  they  differ  widely 
in  their  relations  to  other  ideas  which  we  may  wish  to 

272 


TEANSFEREXCE   OF  MEANING  273 

express.  The  distinction  between  them  seems  so  im- 
portant that  we  feel  the  need  of  making  it  clear  in  the 
vocabulary.  Accordingly,  we  have  limited  or  specialized 
opmion  to  its  modern  meaning,  and  have  adopted  reputa- 
tion (from  re-puto^  '  to  think  over ')  to  signify  the  other 
side  of  the  same  idea.  It  is  to  be  observed,  however,  that 
there  is  no  inherent  difference  between  these  two  words, 
since  both  mean  properly  '  the  act  or  process  of  consider- 
ing,' '  consideration.'  Their  distinction  in  our  vocabulary 
is  due  merely  to  the  fact  that  opinion  has  been  specialized 
in  one  direction,  reputation  in  the  other,  with  the  result 
that  we  have  two  carefully  discriminated  words,  which 
cannot  possibly  be  confused,  even  if  they  have  no  context 
to  fix  their  bearings. 

A  few  examples  will  make  clearer  this  important  point. 
In  '  shame  kept  him  silent,'  the  subjective  feeling  of  the 
person  who  is  ashamed  is  meant ;  in  '•  shameful  treatment,' 
the  character  of  the  act  is  objectively  described.  Honor 
may  be  the  sentiment  which  a  man  cherishes  in  his  own 
heart  and  which  keeps  him  true  to  his  better  nature,  or  it 
may  be  the  tribute  of  respect  which  others  pay  to  such  a 
man.  Compare  '  an  honorable  gentleman,'  with  '  an  honor- 
able invitation.'  Our  odium  is  the  Latin  word  for  'hatred,' 
but  it  never  means  'hatred'  in  English.  It  signifies  the 
objective  result  of  the  hatred  of  others,  —  something  like 
'unpopularity'  (but  in  a  stronger  sense). ^  In  odium 
theologicum,  however,  we  have  borrowed  the  same  word 
again,  this  time  in  the  sense  of  '  hatred '  pure  and  simple. 

The  same  confusion  between  subjective  and  objective 
may  be  seen  in  the  uses  of  cases  and  propositions,  and  in 

1  This  was  also  a  Latin  meaning,  in  accordancfi  with  tlie  liabit  of  that 
language,  in  which  almost  any  abstract  noun  may  express  both  sides  of 
an  idea. 


274  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

other  linguistic  machinery  for  expressing  the  rehations  of 
ideas.  The  Latin  amor  Dei,  and  our  'the  love  of  God,' 
may  mean  either  God's  love  for  us  or  ours  for  him.  So 
caedes  Clodiana  may  mean  a  murder  committed  by  Clodius 
or  a  murder  of  which  Clodius  was  the  victim ;  and  such 
phrases  as  '  the  Fontenoy  forgery  case,'  '  the  Williamson  as- 
sault '  are  equally  ambiguous.  There  is  a  like  uncertainty 
in  compound  words :  compare  loalking  stick  with  pruning 
Jiooh.,  headsman  with  head  man,  ink  stain  with  ink  eraser, 
lovesick  with  lovelock,  heart-wished  with  heart-ivhole.  The 
Elizabethans  were  very  venturesome  in  the  matter  of  com- 
pounds. Thus  (in  Shakspere),  death-marked  might  be 
'marked  hy  death'  or  'marked /or  death,'  but  in  'the 
fearful  passage  of  their  death-marked  love  '  ^  it  is  probably 
the  latter.  The  'death-practised  duke'-  is  Albany,  whose 
death  \^  plotted  (to  practise  =  to  plot).  'Be  simple- 
answered'^  means  'Be  provided  with  a  simple  answer,' 
i.e.  'Answer  simply.'  But  fuU-aeorned^  is  'stuffed  full 
of  acorns.'  Foolish-compounded^  is  'composed  of  folly,' 
not  '  foolishly  put  together.'  Follg-fallen^  is  '  fallen  into 
folly.'  '- Neighbor-staiyied  steel'''  is  'stained  by  neighbors' 
blood.'  Hell-hated^  is  not  'hated  by  hell'  but  'hateful  as 
hell.'  And  so  on.  The  exact  relations  of  the  ideas  ex- 
pressed by  the  parts  of  the  compound  have  to  be  in- 
terpreted by  the  context  in  each  case. 

The  English  infinitive  illustrates  the  point  incompa- 
rably. To  wear,  for  instance,  is  active  in  '  I  am  to  loear  my 
black  coat,'  but  it  seems  to  be  passive  in  '  My  coat  isn't  fit 
to  wear!  '     In  fact,  however,  wear  has  no  'voice'  in  these 

1  Prologue  to  Komeo  and  Juliet.  ^  Henry  IV,  Part  I,  act  i,  sc.  2, 1.  8. 

^  King  Lear,  act  iv,  sc.  G,  1.  284.  *>  Twelfth  Night,  act  iii,  sc.  1,  1.  75. 

3  King  Lear,  act  iii,  sc.  7,  1.  43.  ''  Romeo  and  Juliet,  act  i,  sc.  1,1. 89. 

«  Cymbeline,  act  ii,  sc.  5,  1.  10.  ^  King  Lear,  act  v,  sc.  3,  1.  147. 


TBANSFEBEXCE  OF  MEANING  275 

sentences.  It  is  really  a  noun  of  action.  To  wear  is  thus 
equivalent  to  '  for  wearing ' ;  it  includes  both  the  idea  of 
somebody  who  wears  and  of  something  that  is  tvorn,  and 
the  application  is  left  to  the  acumen  of  the  hearer.  Com- 
pare 'a  journey  to  go,'  'a  sight  to  behold,'  'dreadful  to 
see,'  '  a  sad  tale  to  hear,'  '  fish  to  sell  (or  for  sale'),' 
'nothing  to  eat.'  The  placard  'To  Be  Let,'  sometimes 
seen  instead  of  the  usual  '  To  Let,'  is  a  comical  specimen 
of  grammatical  prudishness.  It  shows,  however,  the 
anxiety  that  we  feel  to  avoid,  if  possible,  all  concession  to 
the  '  facing-both-ways  '  element  in  our  language. 

Now  it  is  precisely  in  this  debatable  land  between  two 
aspects  of  the  same  conception  that  some  of  the  most 
curious  freaks  of  language  take  place.  Transference,  or  a 
sudden  shift  in  the  '  point  of  view '  (from  subject  to  ob- 
ject), is  likely  to  happen  at  any  moment.  It  may  pass 
unnoticed ;  it  may  serve  only  to  give  point  to  an  epigram 
or  felicity  to  a  poetical  figure,  but  in  countless  instances  it 
has  had  a  permanent  effect  on  our  vocabulary. 

Adjectives  are  much  affected  by  transference.  Many 
adjectives  have  since  been  limited  to  one  side  or  the  other 
of  a  conception,  as  the  need  for  specialization  has  made 
itself  felt,  that  were  once  equally  applicable  to  both. 
There  was  extreme  confusion  between  active  and  passive 
adjectives.  ^  Thus  '•feeling  sorrows '  in  Shakspere  means 
'  sorrows  that  are  deeply  felt '  ;  '  the  unexpressive  she  '  is 
the  '  inexpressible "  or  '  ineffal)le '  lady  ;  uncomprehensive  is 
'incomprehensible.'  Per  contra,  tuneable  meant  'tune- 
ful,' '  harmonious ' ;  separable,  '  causing  separation  ' ; 
imaginary,   '  imaginative '  ;   an   '  intenible   sieve '   was   one 

1  This  comes  of  course  from  the  fact  that  most  adjectives  are  in  origin 
neither  active  nor  passive,  but  only  indicate  likeness  or  relationship  in  a 
vague  way.     Cf.  p.  174. 


276  WOBDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

that    could    hold    nothing ;    dcceivnhle   was    '  deceptive '  ; 
reverent   and   7'everend   were    practically  interchangeable. 

There  was  a  similar  uncertainty  with  regard  to  adjecr 
tives  in  -ful.  Aivfiil  meant  '  awe-inspiring  '  or  '  filled  with 
terror  ' ;  '  distressfid  bread  '  in  Henry  1  V\s  soliloquy  on 
sleep  is  not  'bread  that  distresses  the  eater,'  but  'hard- 
earned  bread '  won  by  distressful  toil ;  dreadful  shared 
the  ambiguity  of  auful ;  hatefid  meant  '  full  of  hate '  as 
well  as  '  odious ' ;  pahiful  was  common  in  the  sense  of 
'painstaking,'  'laborious,'  —  a  'painful  preacher'  was  a 
complimentary  phrase  in  the  seventeenth  century.  Some 
of  these  -ful  adjectives  are  still  unsettled.  One  may  be 
doubtful  about  a  doubtful  question.  But  in  most  cases  the 
die  has  been  cast.  Thus  pitiful  is  now  seldom  used  in 
the  sense  of  '  compassionate ' ;  it  signifies  either  '  proper 
to  excite  one's  pity,'  or,  with  a  scornful  connotation,  '  con- 
temptible.' In  Shakspere's  time  the  three  meanings  were 
about  equally  common.  We  no  longer  say  '  a  fretful  cor- 
rosive '  (Henry  IV).  Our  fretful  carries  only  the  neuter 
or  reflexive  meaning  of  the  verb,  —  '  to  fret  one's  self  '  to 
let  one's  self  be  fretted,'  and  we  have  almost  forgotten 
that  fret  is  literally  '  to  eat  away,'  or  '  devour,'  like  the 
German  fressen  with  which  it  is  cognate. ^ 

The  transference  of  an  adjective  from  the  person  who 
has  the  quality  denoted  to  some  object  (person  or  thing) 
with  reference  to  which  he  manifests  that  quality,  is  one 
of  the  commonest  of  all  linguistic  phenomena.  Poetry 
is  full  of  such  instances.  The  thane  of  Cawdor  resigned 
his  life  'as  'twere  a  careless  trifle.'     Lear's  fool  'labored 

^  A.S.  fretan  is  for  for-etan,  like  Ger.  fressen  for  ver-essen.  Tlie  old 
sense  is  seen  in  '  a  moth  fretting  a  garment. '  '  Fret-worTc  and  fret-saw  are 
not  related  to  this  verb,  but  come  from  fra'tican,  'to  adorn.'  So  'yon 
gray  lines  thai  fret  the  clouds'  in  Julius  Caesar. 


TRANSFERENCE  OF  MEANING  211 

to  outjest '  the  '  heart-struck  injuries  '  of  his  master.  Of 
course,  in  phiin  prose,  it  was  Leai'  who  was  struck  to  the 
heart  by  the  wrongs  that  his  daughters  had  done  him.  A 
'  sleepy  language,'  in  The  Tempest,  is  such  a  language  as 
one  might  speak  in  one's  sleep.  '  Trusty  business '  in 
All's  Well  is  the  kind  of  business  that  we  commit  to 
trusty  agents.  '  Drunken  prophecies '  is  a  happy  phrase 
in  Richard  III. 

But  the  shift  in  question  is  not  confined  to  the  poets. 
It  is  characteristic  of  language  itself ;  for  language,  as  we 
saw  at  the  outset,  is  the  unrecognized  and  instinctive 
poetry  of  the  mass  of  men.  '  Glad  tidings,'  'joyful  news,' 
'  hopeless  efforts,'  '  a  malignant  speech,'  '  a  jealous  look,' 
'a  friendly  glance,'  'a  flattering  offer,'  'wise  counsel,' 
'  treacherous  plots  '  are  examples  of  precisely  similar  trans- 
ference. The  colloquial  dialect  shows  the  same  tendency. 
Elegant^  nice,  superb,  denote  a  subjective  personal  quality, 
but  are  transferred  in  ordinary  language  to  objects  with 
reference  to  which  the  quality  is  manifested.  Thus  a 
^nice  person'  is  no  longer  (except  in  books)  a  'fastidious' 
person,  but  one  who  might  satisfy  a  fastidious  person. 
Supei'h  is  the  Latin  superhus,  '  proud,'  but  it  has  lost  that 
meaning  by  transference  and  is  always  applied  objectively. 

A  few  additional  examples  will  bring  out  the  impor- 
tance of  these  processes  in  the  development  of  the  English 
vocabulary.  Curious  is  the  Latin  curiosus,  '  careful,' 
'  care-taking.'  It  retains  its  personal  meaning  in  the  sense 
of  '  inquisitive.'  Transferred  to  things,  it  came  to  mean 
'requiring  care,'  as  in  '•curious  business,'  or  'elaborately 
wrought,' as  in  'a  curious  tale'  (both  from  Shakspere). 
From  this  to  the  everyday  sense  of  '  odd,'  '  peculiar '  was 
but  a  step.  Quaint  has  a  similar  history.  It  is  the  Old 
French  cointe, '  cultivated,'  '  agreeable  '  (from  L.  cogtdtus, 


278  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

'known  ').  Its  development  in  English  is  from  '  wise  '  or 
'  skilful '  to  '  elaborate,'  '  well-wrought,'  and  thence  to 
'fanciful,'  'odd,'  or  'peculiar.'  Its  special  modern  con- 
notation seems  to  be  '  old-fashioned,'  —  for  the  studied 
elegance  of  one  generation  becomes  singularity  in  the 
age  that  follows. 

Secure,  with  its  doublet  sure,  and  their  numerous  de- 
rivatives show  a  like  transference  of  epithets.  Secure  is 
originally  the  Latin  securus,  '  without  anxiety  '  (from  se-, 
'without,'  and  cura),  an  epithet  of  course  applicable  to 
persons  only ;  and  in  that  sense  it  is  constantly  used  in 
Latin  and  even  in  early  English.  But  in  modern  use  it 
has  been  transferred  (in  the  main)  to  the  thing  about 
which  one  feels  secure,  and  in  this  senSe  we  have  also 
assurance,  insurance,  and  other  derivatives.  Sure,  which 
is  securus  in  a  French  form  (O.  Fr.  seiir,  modern  swr)  is 
still  usable  in  the  old  meaning  :  as,  — '  I  am  sure  of  my 
ground.'     Compare  also  the  derivative  surety. 

The  transference  from  things  to  persons,  from  the  objec- 
tive to  the  subjective,  is  less  common,  but  is  found  often 
enough.  Thus  pompous  is  a  derivative  from  L.  pompa,^ 
'a  procession,'  and  denotes  properly  the  splendor  and 
'  pomp '  that  characterize  a  festal  march.  So  the  poet 
Sidonius  has  2)om'posus  incessus  for  a  stately  or  'proces- 
sional '  gait.  Transferred  to  persons,  pompous  suggests 
the  same  stateliness,  with  a  ridiculous  connotation.  Solemn 
is  an  excellent  parallel.  The  Latin  is  solemnls,  soUennis, 
from  sollus,  '  whole,'  and  annus,  '  year,'  and  signifies  '  an- 
nual,' with  special  reference  to  religious  celebrations ; 
hence  solemnize,  and  a  solemnity.  '•Ksolem^i  person '  shows 
a  transference  of  the  epithet. 

1  The  Latin  pompa  is  borrowed  from  Gr.  tto/xtt^  in  the  same  sense  (from 
Tr^jUTTw,  'to  send  "). 


TRANSFERENCE  OF  MEANING  279 

Other  instances  are  doivnright,  straightforward.  '  Down- 
right speech '  and  '  straightforward  language  '  are  easy 
figures  ;  but  it  is  only  by  transference  that  we  can  speak 
of  a  downright  or  straightforward  person.  The  '  super- 
fluous and  lust-dieted  man '  in  King  Lear  is  one  who  has 
more  than  he  needs,  a  pampered  epicure.  Other  examples 
are  'a  very  literal  person,'  'a  prolix  talker,'  'a  navigable 
merchant,'  'a  logical  thinker,'  ^ a  profound  investigator,' 
'■mellifluous  songsters.' 

Transference  operates  also  in  verbs,  producing  many 
curious  shifts  of  meaning.  To  sprinkle  is  literally  to 
'scatter.'  But  in  sprinkling  we  not  only  act  directly  on 
the  liquid  but  indirectly  on  some  other  object  :  we 
''Sprinkle  the  ivater  on  the  plants,'  for  example.  Hence,  by 
transference,  we  speak  of  '  sprinkling  the  plants '  them- 
selves. In  like  manner,  spatter  (connected  with  spif)  has 
suffered  transference,  —  so  that  one  may  '  spatter  blood 
upon  the  floor'  or  'spatter  the  floor  with  blood.'  To 
empty  is  literally  to  '  make  empty,'  —  '  I  emptied  the  bag 
of  its  contents '  ;  but  we  do  not  hesitate  to  '  empty  the 
silver  out  of  the  bag,'  or  to  '  empty  the  water  out  of  the 
glass.'  By  a  still  further  transference  a  river  may  be  said 
'  to  empty  into  the  sea,'  in  which  the  action  of  emptying 
is  said  to  be  done  by  the  river  itself.  So,  with  spatter., 
one  might  say,  '  I  cut  an  artery  and  the  blood  spattered  all 
over  the  floor.' 

This  last-mentioned  kind  of  transference  has  had  far- 
reaching  results  in  our  syntax  and  vocabulary.  It  enables 
us  to  use  a  great  many  verbs  not  only  transitively  ('  he 
poured  oil  on  the  flame ')  but  intransitively  ('  the  rain 
poured  dismally').  Thus  we  have,  without  change  of 
form  or  fear  of  ambiguity,  a  satisfactor}''  substitute  for  the 
Greek   middle  and   the  reflexive  verbs  of    German   and 


280  WOBDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

French.  'He  turned  round'  is  simpler  than  'he  turned 
himself  round,'  and  equally  clear.  In  Greek  '  I  turn ' 
(a  thing),  transitively,  is  one  form,  rpeTrco,  trepo  (in  the 
active  voice)  ;  '  I  turn  (myself),'  intransitively,  is  another 
form,  rpeiroixai,  trepomai  (in  the  so-called  'middle  voice,' 
i.e.  neither  active  nor  passive).  The  beginner  is  struck 
by  the  grammatical  distinction  (which  has  probably  never 
attracted  his  attention  in  English),  as  Avell  as  by  the 
elegance  with  which  the  Greek  inflection  indicates  it. 
He  may  easily  infer  that  the  absence  of  the  middle  voice 
is  a  defect  in  our  language.  A  moment's  thought,  how- 
ever, convinces  one  that  no  inflectional  distinction  is 
necessary,  and  that  the  abandonment  of  a  third  '  voice ' 
(for  the  Germanic  languages  once  had  a  '  middle '  too)  is 
not  deterioration,  but  advance.  We  accomplish  the  same 
end  with  simpler  means  and  less  trouble.  In  this  respect, 
as  in  certain  others,  we  have  gone  farther  than  most  lan- 
guages of  our  family.  In  German,  for  instance,  to  'turn 
(anything)  '  is  wenden ;  to  '  turn  (one's  self)  '  is  '  sich 
wenden.'  In  English,  the  reflexive  is  not  used,  and  our 
experience  proves  that  it  is  not  requisite. ^ 

Engage  is  a  good  example  of  the  process  that  we  are 
studying.  It  means  literally  '  to  put  (a  person  or  thing) 
in  or  under  a  pledge  (eyi  gage^,"^  'to  impledge  '  in  an}'" 
manner,  literal  or  figurative:  as,  —  'I  engage  my  word,' 
'  He  suffered  his  kinsman  to  be  engaged "  (that  is,  held  as 
prisoner  or  hostage),  '  He  engaged  himself  to  carry  out  the 
plan,'  'He  engaged  the  servant.'  But  it  is  now  especially 
common  in  an  intransitive  use  :  as,  —  'He  engaged  in  the 
practice  of  law.'     So  prove.,  'to  test'   (L.  prohare).,  may 

1  cf.  pp.  \m-A. 

-  A  gage  is  a  '  pledge '  ;  cf.  wage^  icayes,  wager,  •  throw  down  the 
gage.' 


TRANSFERENCE  OF  MEANING  281 

mean  '  to  turn  out'  (so  and  so,  under  the  test  of  time) :  as, — 
'  His  efforts  proved  unsuccessful.'  Even  such  verbs  as 
strengthen,  weakest,  tighten,  loosen,  and  sharpen,  though 
they  are  specially  formed  with  the  suffix  -en.  Ho  make  or 
cause,'  are  not  infrequently  heard  in  the  sense  of  '  become 
strong,'  etc.  Similar  instances  are  innumerable.^  Such 
colloquialisms  as  '  He  takes  a  good  photograph  '  for  '  He 
always  suoceeds  in  getting  a  good  photograph  of  himself,' 
and  the  butcher's  encouraging  '  This  beef  will  eat  well ' 
may  sound  grotesque.  In  fact,  however,  they  illustrate, 
as  such  things  uijually  do,  a  governing  principle  of  our 
language. 

English  shows  similar  freedom  in  making  intransitive 
verbs  transitive  by  giving  them  a  causative  force.  '  To 
Jig  a  kite'  is  'to  cause  it  to  fly.'  So  one  may  groiv 
wheat,  ru7i  an  engine,  gallop  a  horse,  j^oa^  a  corporation, 
or  stand  a  man  on  his  head.  Like  other  languages, 
English  once  had  its  machinery  for  making  verbs  of 
causation.  Thus,  io  fell  is  the  causative  oifall,  to  drench 
of  drink,  to  singe  (older  se7ige7i)  of  sing,  to  quench  of 
A.S.  cwincan  ('disappear  '),  to  blench^  of  blink.  But  this 
machinery  ceased  to  operate  long  ago,  though  some  of  its 
producta  are  still  in  stock.  Transference  has  proved  a 
simpler  means  of  accomplishing  the  end  desired. 

In  view  of  all  these  facts  it  is  not  surprising  that  the 
distinction  between  sit  and  set,  lie  and  lag,  has  broken 
down  in  vulgar  English,  and  has  not  always  maintained 
itself  in  literature.  In  the  first  half  of  the  last  century 
lag  was  pretty  common  for  lie,  even  in  respectable  authors. 
The  sun  still  sets,  and  it  is  excessively  difficult  (hardly 

1  Compare  the  transitive  and  the  intransitive  use  of  twist,  draw,  drag, 
settle,  stall,  pt'^'i'<'fy<  siihmit,  oppose,  pretend,  warp. 
-  Bltnch  has  lost  its  causative  sense. 


282  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

desirable)    for  a  poultry   farmer   to  speak   of    '  a  sitting 
hen.' 

Ill  conclusion,  a  few  miscellaneous  examples  of  trans- 
ference are  given  to  illustrate  the  variety  of  its  operations. 
An  omen^  is  a  sign  that  foreshadows  calamity,  but  in 
Elizabethan  English  it  is  sometimes  transferred  to  the 
calamity  that  is  foreshadowed  by  the  sign,  —  as  in  Shak- 
spere's  'prologue  to  the  omen  coming  on.'  This  is  a  close 
parallel  to  disaster^  which  has  passed  from  '  ill-boding- 
appearance  of  the  stars'  to  'ruin  and  misfortune.'  To 
challenge  is  literally  to  '  bring  a  charge  against '  a  person, 
being  derived  (through  the  French)  from  L.  calumiiiari, 
'  to  calumniate '  ;  hence,  by  an  easy  shift,  it  gets  the 
sense  of  'laying  claim  to'  a  tldng  or  a  privilege,  —  as  in 
'challenge  attention.'  Polite  is  'polished'  (L.  politus, 
p.p.  of  polio,  'to  polish')  ;  its  application  to  persons,  at 
first  metaphorical,  has  ceased  to  be  figurative  so  far  as 
English  is  concerned,  and  the  word  is  freely  transferred 
to  manners  or  bearing  ;  compare  courteous  and  courtly.'^ 
Crame  is  'sport'  of  any  kind  ;  with  reference  to  hunting, 
it  means  the  material  result  of  the  sport, — the  'quarry.' 
Venison  is  L.  venatio,  'hunting,'  and  has  developed  its 
meaning  in  a  precisely  similar  fashion.  A  '  hollow  sound' 
is  one  that  sounds  as  if  it  were  reechoed  from  a  pit  or  hol- 
low ;  so  'a  hollow  roaring,'  'a  hollow  groan.'  There  is 
transference  of  the  epithet  in  'a  terrible  night,'  where  the 
terror  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  night  except  for  the 
relation  of  time,  and  in  '  an  anxious  week,'  since  only  a 
person  can  be  anxious. 

1  Of  course  there  are  good  omens  as  well  as  bad,  but  the  word  has  been 
more  or  less  specialized  in  its  disastrous  sense. 

-  Court  is  an  old  borrowing  from  Norman  French,  It  is  L.  cohors, 
cohortis,  '  cohort.' 


TRANSFEBENCE  OF  MEANING  283 

One  can  bloio  a  blast  on  a  horn  in  actual  pneumatical 
fact.  To  blow  the  horn  requires  an  imaginative  transfer- 
ence, which,  however,  was  made  so  long  ago  that  we  for- 
get that  it  is  imaginative.  More  recently,  a  famous  lyric 
poet  could,  without  fear  of  criticism  (indeed,  witli  much 
force  and  elegance),  exhort  a  bugle  to  blow  itself.  Here, 
as  always,  the  individual  poet  is  merely  following  out, 
with  the  certainty  of  genius,  the  path  in  which  the 
language  guides  him. 

No  poet  proceeds  more  daringly  than  Milton  in  this 
path:  'Let  the  bass  of  Heaven's  deep  organ  blow,' 
'  happier  union,'  '  dolorous  mansions,'  '  speckled  vanity,' 
'  like  glories  wearing,'  '  the  scaly  horror  of  his  folded 
tail,'  are  well-known  examples  from  his  Hymn  on  the 
Nativity.  But  they  are,  in  fact,  no  bolder  than  many  a 
phrase  which  we  habitually  employ  without  a  thought  of 
its  logical  history. 

Thus  English  is  full  of  happy  misapplications  of  words. 
They  should  serve  as  warnings  to  the  puristic  pedant,  and 
may,  perhaps,  encourage  aspiring  neologists.  One  caution, 
however,  must  in  conscience  be  added.  The  only  safe 
course  is  to  be  sure  that  the  misapplication  is  so  happy 
that  the  rest  of  the  world  will  adopt  it.  Then,  despite 
the  purists,  you  have  enriched  the  English  language. 
Otherwise,  —  well,  you  have  not ! 


CHAPTER   XX 

DEGENERATION   OE   MEANING 

Descent  is  easy,  and  words,  like  people,  show  a  pro- 
pensity to  fall  away  from  their  better  selves.  The  de- 
generation is  sometimes  due  to  special  causes.  Usually, 
however,  the  word  takes  its  first  step  in  the  downward 
path  when  it  is  used  in  slight,  perhaps  in  jocose,  dispar- 
agement. As  time  goes  on,  it  gets  into  worse  and  worse 
odor,  until  at  last  it  may  become  a  term  of  extreme  con- 
tempt or  reprobation. 

A  good  example  is  our  word  villain  (from  the  French 
vilain).  Villain  originally  signified  '  a  farm-laborer.'  It  is 
derived  from  the  Latin  villa,  '  farmhouse,'  through  villa- 
71US,  'a  slave  attached  to  one's  country-place.'  In  English 
it  was  at  first  merely  a  descriptive  term  for  a  particular 
station  in  life,  replacing  the  native  word  churl  (A.S.  ceorl), 
which  had  the  same  sense.  Soon,  however,  it  became  a 
term  of  contempt  for  one  who  did  not  belong  to  the 
gentry.  Gradually  there  was  built  up  a  set  of  ideas  asso- 
ciating with  villain  and  villany  all  the  qualities  opposed  to 
the  comprehensive  word  courtesy,^  which  signified  in  the 
Middle  Ages  'the  continent  of  what  part  a  gentleman 
would  see.'  Thus  villain  was  applied  to  a  'low  fellovv^ ' 
in  general,  and  villany  was  used  for  low  conduct,  or  low 

1  The  injustice  wliich  Tennyson  has  done  to  the  cliaracterof  the  matcli- 
less  Gawain,  'with  his  olde  curteisye,'  comes  in  part  from  too  limited 
and  modern  an  understanding  of  this  fine  old  word. 

284 


DEGENERATION   OF  MEANING  285 

language,  or  low  thoughts.  From  this  to  the  present 
meaning  is  a  short  step ;  the  implied  moral  reproba- 
tion has  simply  been  intensified.  In  this  process  villain 
and  villany  have  quite  lost  their  association  with  any  par- 
ticular rank  in  life.  A  king,  as  well  as  a  peasant,  may  be 
described  as  a  villain,  if  he  is  morally  wicked.^  Several 
other  words  which  properly  mean  '  farm-hand,'  or  the  like, 
have  become  more  or  less  debased.  Thus  churl  no  longer 
means  'serf,'  or  'bumpkin,'  but  is  applied  to  any  one  who 
is  rude  in  his  manners  or  a  curmudgeon  in  disposition. 
But  the  word  is  little  used  ;  hooi\  literally  '  farmer,'  has 
taken  its  place. ^  In  this  country, /arwer  itself  is  some- 
times jocosely  applied  to  a  'greenhorn,'  or  to  a  person  who 
has  made  himself  ridiculous,  particularly  by  awkwardness 
or  stupidity.  If  our  language  were  not  so  fixed  by  the 
conservative  forces  of  literature  and  education,  it  is  not 
impossible  that  farmer  would  go  the  way  of  its  predeces- 
sors. Cloivn  was  perhaps  contemptuous  in  its  very  origin. 
It  seems  to  have  meant  literally  'a  clod.'''^  It  appears  in 
English  in  the  senses  of  'rustic'  and  'jester'  at  about  the 
same  date  (late  sixteenth  century),  but  there  is  evidence 
that  the  latter  is  a  derived  meaning.  At  all  events,  the 
comic  '  clowns  '  of  the  drama  frequently  represented  coun- 
trymen who  amused  the  audience  by  their  mingled  sim- 
plicity and  mother-wit. 

Knave  has  had  a  history  similar  to  that  of  villain.     It 

1  When  villain  was  borrowed  from  the  French,  it  hati  both  the  first  and 
the  second  meanings  here  given  to  it,  so  that  the  development  indicated 
did  not  take  place  in  English.  Both  the  more  primitive  and  the  more 
developed  sense  were  borrowed  at  the  same  time. 

2  See  p.  347. 

3  Cf.  clod  for  a  gross  or  stupid  fellow.  A  clodpoll  or  clotpoll  is  a  man 
vsrlio  had  a  sod  or  a  clod  of  earth  for  a  head  (cf.  Jdockhead).  Cf.  Emilia's 
'  as  ignorant  as  dirt,'  in  Othello.      Clodhopper  tells  its  own  .story. 


286  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

meant  originally  (like  Ger.  Knahe)  'boy';  then  servant^ 
from  the  habit  of  calling  servants  'boys'  (as  in  Greek  and 
Latin,  and  the  South  before  the  war).  Thus  it  came  to 
be  used  as  a  general  term  of  disparagement  for  a  person 
of  inferior  station,  and  finally  it  developed  the  sense  of 
moral  worthlessness.  Valet  and  varlet  are  Old  French 
diminutives  of  vassal.  They  literally  meant  'boy'  or 
'youth,'  just  as  vassal  meant  'man.'  Specialized  in  the 
sense  of  'servant,'  however,  they  tended  to  deteriorate, 
and  varlet  became,  in  English,  a  synonym  for  'saucy 
fellow.'  All  such  words,  as  soon  as  they  acquire  a 
reproachful  or  contemptuous  connotation,  tend  to  go  out 
of  use  in  their  literal  descriptive  meaning,  for  the  knave 
or  villain  in  the  old  sense  refuses  to  answer  to  the  dis- 
credited name.  Vassalage  is  an  interesting  example  of 
a  word  which  has  been  specialized  in  two  directions. 
Since  the  vassal  was  his  lord's  inferior,  vassalage  sank  to 
the  sense  of  'servitude.'  On  the  other  hand,  it  rose  by 
an  equally  obvious  chain  of  thought  to  the  meaning  of 
'  valorous  deeds,'  '  splendid  service  in  war,'  such  as  a 
vassal  performs  for  his  suzerain,  and  this  is  its  meaning 
in  Chaucer. 

Several  words  for  '  woman  '  or  '  girl '  have  lost  caste  in 
one  way  or  another.  Wench  was  once  perfectly  respect- 
able ;  it  meant  nothing  but  '  daughter,'  '  orphan,'  or  '  pupil ' 
(A.S.  ivencel,  tvencle^  from  iveneel.,  'weak'  and  so  needing 
protection).  Queayi  (A.S.  cwene')  is  cognate  with  Gr. 
7Uf77  (^Mwe),  and  meant  'woman.'  A  related  word  (A.S. 
civeri)  has  given  us  queen,  and  the  Sanskrit  gnd,  another 
related  term,  is  even  more  dignified,  since  it  stands  for 
'goddess.'  Hussy  is  from  houseivife.  The  German 
Dime,  '  loose  woman,'  once  meant  '  virgin,'  and  in  Old 
High  German  is  even  applied  to  the  Virgin  Mary.     It 


DEGENERATION   OF  MEANING  287 

would  be  hard  to  find  a  more  extraordinary  instance  of 
verbal  degradation.  Womaji  and  Ger.  Weib  have  also  gone 
down  in  the  world  (see  p.  32(3). 

Felloiv,  now  either  contemptuous  or  else  used  lightly 
for  'man'  in  general,  once  meant  'partner.'  It  was 
A.S.  feolaga^  —  one  who  laid  down  his  property  {fee) 
along  with  yours.  Hence  came  the  meaning  of  '  compan- 
ion,' then  '  idle  companion,'  and  thus  we  arrive  at  the 
sliorhtincr  modern  sense.  The  literal  meaning  has  also 
been  preserved,  by  virtue  of  certain  combinations  into 
which  fellow  had  entered  before  it  began  to  lose  caste, 
such  as  fellowsMp,  fellowfeeling^  yokefellow,  and  com- 
pound words  like  felloiv- Christian.  ^ Felloiv  o^  a  college' 
is  a  translation  of  socius ;  its  academic  isolation  has  pre- 
served its  dignity. 

Companion  and  mate  were  also  used  contemptuously  at 
one  time,  probably  because  they  were  synonymous  with 
fellow.  Chapman,  the  native  English  word  for  'mer- 
chant,' is  obsolete,  except  as  a  proper  name.  The  clipped 
form  chap,  however,  is  still  used  disparagingly,  and  in 
older  English  both  chapman  and  merchant  were  common 
terms  of  contempt  for  a  sauc}'  or  otherwise  objectionable 
person.  Observe  that  companion,  merchant,  and  mate  have 
succeeded  in  rehabilitating  themselves  —  always  a  difficult 
feat  for  either  a  word  or  a  person  to  accomplish. 

Caitiff  is  an  old  French  word  for  'captive'  (modern 
chetif,  L.  captivus).  It  often  meant  'poor  creature,'  since 
the  condition  of  captives  was  peculiarly  miserable,  and  it 
was  quite  as  often  applied  in  pity  as  in  contempt.  Bor- 
rowed by  us  in  both  the  literal  and  the  developed  meaning, 
it  was  later  specialized  in  the  peculiarly  odious  sense  of 
'  coward.'    It  is  now  obsolete  in  common  language,  though 

1  From  O.N.  filagc,  in  the  same  sense. 


288  WORDS  AXD   TUEIR    WAYS 

it  is  one  of  those  curious  words  wliicli  everybody  knows 
but  nobody  uses.  Compare  the  history  of  ivretch,  the 
Ansrlo-Saxon  word  for  '  exile."  ^ 

Abuost  any  term  of  reproach  or  word  that  suggests 
inferiority  may  come  to  imply  moral  badness  :  as,  —  loiv, 
base,  degraded  (literally  'put  down  a  step,  or  grade'), 
debased,  sunk  very  low.  Rascal  means  first  'the  ral)- 
ble,'  and  probably  comes  ultimately  from  L.  rado,  rasus, 
'  scrape  ' :  cf .  '  the  offscourings  of  society.'  So  Chaucer 
speaks  of  Jove,  Apollo,  Mars,  and  the  other  heathen  gods, 
as  'rascaille.' 2  In  hunting-language  a  rascal  was  a  lean 
deer,  out  of  condition  and  not  fit  for  venison. 

The  degradation  of  a  descriptive  term  may  tell  a  sad 
story  of  human  frailty.  Tax-gatherers  are  never  wel- 
come guests,  but  the  mere  word  suggests  no  moral  tur- 
pitude. It  was  otherwise  with  the  Roman  jjuhlicans, 
whose  business  became  a  synonym  for  extortion.^  The 
English  escheators  (or  cheaters')  had  a  similar  fate.  They 
were  officers  who  looked  out  for  lands  that  might  revert 
to  the  king  in  default  of  heirs  (French,  from  e.r-  and 
cadere,  'fall  away').  But  their  actual  or  supposed  dis- 
honesty gave  their  name  an  evil  sense. 

Simple,  guileless,  and  innocent  are  good  words,  but  they 
have  not  remained  so  '  in  the  corrupted  currents  of  this 
world.'    Even  silly  *  once  meant  '  l)lessed  '  or  '  good,'  being 

1  Wrecca,  from  ivrecan,  '  to  drive  out  or  punish,'  whence  ivrcck  and 
loreak. 

2  O.  Fr.  rascaille  (modern  racaille). 

3  The  modern  sense  of  'keeper  of  sl  public,  house'  originated  in  an 
obvious  pun,  and  has  never  become  serious. 

4  A.S.  sn:-U(/,  M.E.  sely.  Another  adjective,  seUir,  'strange,'  is  thought 
by  some  to  have  become  confused  with  sely,  and  thus  to  have  helped  it 
down,  but  no  such  contamination  is  necessary  to  account  for  its  fall 
from  grace.  The  Gi-eek  ev-qO-qs,  'good-hearted,'  came  to  mean  'fool- 
ish,' and  our  rjood-nalured  often  has  a  slighting  connotation. 


DEGENERATION   OF  MEANING  289 

akin  to  the  German  selif/.  Unsophisticated  is  literally 
'  unadulterated,'  '  unspoiled,'  but  is  almost  always  a  term 
of  contempt.  We  have  here  a  long  history  of  degrada- 
tion ;  for  sophist  is  properly  ^  a  wise  teacher,'  and  owes  its 
evil  sense  to  the  dialogues  of  Plato,  in  which  the  reason- 
ing of  these  professors  was  attacked  by  Socrates. 

Cumiing,^  sly,  and  crafty  were  also  commendatory  ad- 
jectives at  first.  Cunning  is  'knowing,'  hence  'skilful,' 
as  in  '  a  cunyiing  workman.'  Crafty  was  '  skilful,'  especially 
in  a  handicraft  (cf.  craftsman').  Sly  (borrowed  from  the 
Scandinavian)  was  '  wise '  or  '  skilful '  in  any  way,  but 
with  no  evil  meaning.  All  such  words  deteriorate  easily. 
Even  knoiving  has  come  to  have  a  suspicious  sound.  Com- 
pare keen,  sharp,  smart  (in  the  American  sense),  clever, 
cute  (for  acute'),  and  '  to  live  by  one's  tvits'  The  line 
between  craft  and  diplomacy  is  as  hard  to  draw  as  that 
between  piracy  and  privateering.  Sir  Henry  Wotton 
wrote,  punningly,  that  an  '  ambassador  was  a  man  sent  to 
lie  abroad  for  his  country.'  Subtlety  is  a  recognized  vir- 
tue among  primitive  peoples,  and  no  civilized  nation  has 
yet  climbed  high  enough  to  look  down  on  Themistocles. 

To  counterfeit  had  at  first  no  evil  suggestion.  It  meant 
simply  to  'imitate'  or  'copy,'^  —  hence,  a  counterfeit  was, 
among  other  things,  a  'portrait,'  —  as  in  'fair  Portia's 
counterfeit'  {i.e.  portrait),  and  'the  counterfeit  present- 
ment of  two  brothers.'  To  copy  another  man's  hand  and 
seal,  or  to  imitate   the  coin  of  the  realm,  however,  was 

1  The  innocent  sense  is  preserved  in  tlie  American  nursery :  '  a  cun- 
ning cliil^ '  is  commendatory. 

2  Counter  is  contra  and  feit  is  factum.  Counter  may  imply  opposition 
or  merely  comparison.  Thus  counterpart,  which  properly  means  that 
which  completes  or  complements  anything  by  supplying  contrasted  quali- 
ties (as  the  'stub'  or  counterfoil,  and  the  check),  has  acquired,  also,  the 
sense  of  'exact  copy.' 


290  WORDS   AND   THEIR    WAYS 

felony,  and  the  word  soon  acquired  the  sinister  associ- 
ations which  always  attend  it  to-day.  Compare  coiner  and 
coining  for  'counterfeiter'  and  'counterfeiting-.' 

Sanctimonious  once  meant  'devout,'  'holy,'  or  'sacred.' 
To  modern  ears  it  always  carries  an  implication  of  hypoc- 
risy. The  case  is  perfectly  typical.  Persevering  innu- 
endo will  ruin  the  reputation  of  any  word,  and  religious 
observances  are  immemorial  targets  for  sneering  suspicion. 
Compare  pious,  saint,  smictified,  pj^iestcraft,  forms  and  cere- 
monies, zealot,  devotee.  Religious  itself  once  meant  'super- 
stitious' (see  p.  232).  Enthusiasm  is  a  Greek  word  for 
'inspiration,'  or  possession  by  a  divine  spirit  (from  eV, 
en,  'in,'  and  de6<i,  theds,  'god'), — yet  in  the  eighteenth 
century  it  was  the  regular  English  term  for  fanaticism. 
Madness  and  prophetic  inspiration,  we  remember,  are 
identical  in  the  opinion  of  savages,  among  whom  all 
lunatics  are  sacred,  and  the  ancient  religions  had  not 
outgrown  this  idea.^  Fanatic  is  a  Latin  synonym  for 
enthusiastic.  It  is  literally  '  belonging  to  the  fane ' ;  then, 
'inspired  by  the  divinity.'  The  Romans  applied  it  es- 
pecially to  the  frantic  priests  of  Mars  and  Cybele,  and 
found  no  difficulty  in  extending  it  to  madness  in  general. 
It  entered  our  language  in  the  seventeenth  century,  and 
is  always  taken  in  malam  partem. 

Other  examples  of  words  that  have  deteriorated  are 
lust,  which  originally  meant  simply  'pleasure,'  as  it  still 
does  in  German;  lewd,  'belonging  to  the  laity,'  then 
'ignorant'  (since  only  the  clergy  were  learned),  then, 
'low'  in  any  sense,  as  in  'lewd  fellows  of  the  baser  sort,' 

1  Vates,  the  Latin  for  'prophet'  (also  'bard,'  'poet'),  is  properly  the 
'raging  seer.'  Genius  and  madness  are  thought  to  be  near  allied.  At  all 
events,  the  Anglo-Saxon  wod,  'insane,'  is  cognate  witli  vates  (cf.  Ger. 
Wuth).     Cf.  vaticination  (borrowed  from  Latin). 


DEGENERATION   OF  MEANING  291 

and,  finally,  'lascivious';  vile,  literally  'cheap';  vice,  lit- 
erally 'flaw,'  'defect';  illicit,  formerly  'unallowed';  revel, 
formerly  simply  'joy,'  'festivity';  reckless,  once  simply 
'careless,'  now  always  'extremely  careless,'  often  used  as 
a  synonym  for  '  desperate ' ;  erring,  formerly  '  wandering ' 
(cf.  knight  errant^,  now  always  in  a  moral  sense  ;  jjlausi- 
hle,  literally  'praiseworthy'  (from  L.  plauclo,  'to  clap  the 
hands '),  then  '  pleasing ' ;  rash,  literally  '  quick,'  '  active.' 

If  we  go  back  to  the  original  sense  of  a  borrowed  word, 
we  frequently  find  that  it  was  innocent  enough  but  had 
become  unpleasant  or  evil  before  the  word  entered  our 
language.  In  such  cases,  we  have,  of  course,  no  right  to 
cite  the  original  meaning  in  interpreting  the  English  use. 
Thus,  pirate  has  always  meant  'sea-robber'  in  English. 
We  borrowed  it  from  the  Latin  in  that  sense.  Nor  had 
pirata  any  other  signification  in  Latin,  which  borrowed  it 
from  the  Greek  with  the  same  meaning.  In  Greek,  how- 
ever, we  can  easily  see  that  tlie  word  originally  meant 
'one  who  tries'  or  'makes  an  attempt,'  and  that  it  acquired 
its  special  denotation  through  the  comparatively  harmless 
meaning  of  'one  who  goes  on  an  enterprise,'  'an  ad- 
venturer.' This  points  to  an  age  when  piracy  was  a 
respectable  occupation  among  the  sea-going  Greeks,  as  it 
was  among  the  Angles  and  Saxons  before  they  conquered 
Britain,  and  among  the  Norsemen  at  a  still  later  period. 
The  vikings  were  pirates  when  robbery  was  an  honorable 
profession.  They  got  their  name  from  O.N.  vlk,  'bay,' 
for  piracy  loves  '  nook-shotten '  coasts,  as  Pompey  found 
when  he  conquered  the  Cilician  marauders.  We  of  New 
England  should  not  forget  the  proverb  that  'piracy  and 
privateering  both  begin  with  a  p.'  The  celebrated  Captain 
Kidd  began  as  a  privateer. 

So   far   we   have   considered   pretty   serious    cases    of 


292  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

degradation.  The  words  that  we  liave  studied,  though 
innocent  in  their  origin,  have  come  to  express  moral 
reprobation,  or,  at  the  very  least,  a  high  degree  of  con- 
tempt. Often,  however,  the  same  tendencies  have  oper- 
ated to  produce  less  striking  changes,  affecting  rather 
the  dignity  of  the  term  than  its  actual  signification. 
Thus,  ivortliy  (from  wortJi)  once  meant  distinctly  'hon- 
orable,' but  has  acquired  a  condescending  connotation. 
Wo7'ship  (also  from  uwrtJi)  meant  'honor,'  but  has  been 
heightened  in  sense  (except  in  '  your  Worship ') ;  ivorshij)- 
ful,  however,  has  kept  its  meaning  more  exactly,  but  it 
is  an  old-fashioned  word,  hardly  used  except  with  a  half- 
humorous  suggestion. 

Mespectable  has  fared  in  the  same  way.  Once  a  term 
of  positive  honor,  it  has  imperceptibly  slid  down  to  its 
present  apologetic  position.  It  is  still  dignified,  however, 
to  be  a  '  respectable  author,' — since  that  fine  old-fashioned 
phrase  is  seldom  used  except  by  those  who  feel  its  full 
force,  —  a  writer  whose  language  commands  respect,  one 
who  may  be  cited  as  an  'authority.' 

An  amusing  instance  of  verbal  degradation  is  afforded 
by  a  little  group  of  words  which  should  mean  '  instantly,' 
but  to  which  the  procrastinating  habit  of  mankind  has 
attached  an  implication  of  delay.  Soon  is  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  word  for  'immediately.'  B//  and  hy  once  meant 
the  same  thing,^  and  so  did  iire^eyitly  and  directly.  All 
four  have  fallen  off  in  promptitude.  '  I  will  attend  to 
your  business  8oon '  is  cold  comfort  to  the  waiting  peti- 
tioner.    Presently  and  directly  are  better,  especially  the 

1  Bij  and  hy  was  oric;inally  an  adverb  of  place,  meaning  '  side  by  side.' 
Tlius,  I'alamon  and  Arcite  were  found  on  the  battlefield  lying  '  by  and  by,' 
severely  wounded.  From  adjacent  place  it  was  transferred  to  time  imme- 
diately future.  Compare  on  the  spot  in  'Tell  me  on  the  spot,''  'in  the 
nick  of  time,'  stcr  le  champ.,  main-tenant. 


DEGENERATION  OF  MEANING  293 

latter,  for  they  are  newer  words  and  have  not  had  tune  to 
break  down  utterly.  But  bt/  and  hy  has  become  the  pro- 
verbial motto  of  the  determined  procrastinator.  Even 
immediatelf/  is  backsliding  a  little.  Instantly  stands  firm, 
but  will  doubtless  go  the  way  of  all  the  rest. 

Sometimes  a  word  shows  deterioration  in  some  of  its 
uses,  but  maintains  itself  in  others.  This  may  be  seen 
in  the  case  of  execute,  which  has  long  been  used  for  put- 
ting to  death  by  legal  process,  but  which  is  still  perfectly 
familiar  in  its  general  meaning  of  '  carry  out,'  '  follow  out,' 
or  'fulfil.'  The  peculiar  sense  of  execute  appears  to  come 
from  a  kind  of  ellipsis.  The  judgment  of  the  court  is 
executed,  that  is,  '  carried  out,'  when  a  murderer  is  hanged. 
Hence,  the  hanging  is  called  an  execution,  that  is  to  say, 
a  carrying  out  of  the  judgment  pronounced ;  and,  by 
transference,  the  man  is  said  to  be  executed  as  well  as  the 
sentence.  This  special  development  has  had  no  effect 
whatever  on  the  other  meanings  of  the  word,  perhaps 
because  it  relates  to  a  class  of  ideas  that  are  pretty 
thoroughly  isolated.  The  executive  is  still  one  of  the 
three  coordinate  high  powers  of  the  government.  Ob- 
serve that  executor,  the  appropriate  term  for  '  one  who 
executes '  in  any  sense,  but  particularly  applied,  in  legal 
lansfuasre,  to  one  who  carries  out  the  terms  of  a  will  or 
testament,  was  formerly  used  for  the  hangman  or  heads- 
man ;  but,  for  the  sake  of  distinction,  a  new  term  for  this 
officer  has  grown  up,  formed  by  attaching  to  execution  the 
suffix  -er,  which  designates  one's  trade  or  occupation  (as 
in  grocer,  money  er,  etc.).  When  the  electric  chair  was 
substituted  for  the  scaffold  in  New  York,  the  need  of  a 
special  verb  was  felt,  and  the  monstrosity  electrocute  was 
cobbled  together  from  the  first  part  of  electric  and  the  last 
part  of  execute,  —  the  syllable  -cute  being  felt  as  in  some 


294  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

sort  a  suffix  indicating  '  to  put  to  death  by  judicial  process.' 
This  uncouth  term  was  much  laughed  at  for  a  time,  but, 
although  it  cannot  be  said  to  have  taken  its  place  for  good 
and  all  in  our  vocabulary,  electrocute  (as  well  as  electrocu- 
tion) has  stood  its  ground  with  unexpected  courage. 
Good  or  bad,  electrocute  is  a  highly  instructive  phenome- 
non in  half  a  dozen  ways.  Electro-  is  the  stem  of  the 
Greek  ijXeKrpov  (tlektron)^  'amber,'  and  -cute  (the  sup- 
posed suffix)  is  the  Latin  participle  secutus,  '  following ' 
(from  sequor~).  Yet  the  compound  signifies  'to  put  to 
death  judicially  by  means  of  an  electric  shock.'  Every 
step  of  tliis  wonderful  change  is  easily  followed  and  may 
be  paralleled  in  other  cases.  The  last  syllable  we  liave 
already  traced.  As  to  electro-,  we  have  but  to  remember 
that  the  phenomena  of  electricity  were  first  observed  in 
amber,  and  were  believed  to  be  peculiar  to  that  substance, 
—  so  that  electric,  'pertaining  to  amber,'  and  electricity, 
'amberness,'  as  it  were,  were  coined  to  express  the  new 
'force.'  As  science  advanced,  the  need  of  a  shorter  form 
was  felt  for  the  purposes  of  composition,  and  the  Greek 
stem  electro-  was  extended  to  the  full  sense  of  the  longer 
word,  electricity,  and  utilized  in  numerous  formations,  like 
eleetro-2)hysics,  electrolysis,  etc.  Thus,  when  an  amalgam 
of  electricity  and  execution  was  attempted,  electrocution  was 
the  result.^ 

Even  slight  changes  in  connotation  may  render  a  word 

1  We  may  compare  the  equally  barbarous,  but  more  natural,  electrolier 
for  an  '  electric  cliandeZ/Jer.'  Here  -Her  was  taken  as  a  termination,  though 
the  I  is  really  a  part  of  L.  randela,  'candle,'  from  which  candelabrum  (the 
original  of  dtandelicr)  is  derived.  Motoneer,  from  motor  and  -necr  (a  part 
of  engin-eer),  shows  a  similiar  confusion  as  to  the  boundary  between  word 
and  suffix.  These  two  words  are  not  likely  to  get  a  place  in  the  language, 
but  they  illustrate  the  confusion  of  suffixes  which  is  constantly  manifest- 
ing itself  in  legitimate  speech  and  has  produced  many  new  endings  (see 
p.  187). 


DEGENERATION   OF  MEANING  295 

too  prosaic  or  undignified  for  poetical  use,  though  its  real 
meaning  has  not  changed  at  all.  This  is  the  subtlest 
kind  of  degradation,  and  is  of  peculiar  interest  to  the 
student  of  literature.  Again  and  again  have  passages  in 
our  older  authors  been  stigmatized  as  vulgar  or  out  of 
taste,  when  the  fault  was  with  the  critics,  who  had  not 
the  grounds  of  opinion.  And  not  seldom  has  intentional 
incongruity  for  the  sake  of  humor  been  suspected  where, 
in  fact,  there  was  actually  no  incongruity  at  all,  except 
that  which  lapse  of  time  had  made.  Chaucer  says  the 
friar  was  '  a  noble  pof<t  unto  his  order, '  —  we  should  have 
to  say  2)illar^  or,  abandoning  the  vividness  of  the  figure, 
supijort^  iov  post  has  sunk  in  dignity.  The  liver  is  essen- 
tially as  poetical  an  organ  as  the  heart,  and  it  was  for- 
merly much  mentioned  in  poetry,  being  regarded  as  the 
seat  of  courage  and  of  passion.  Physiology  has  changed 
its  opinions,  and  nobody  would  venture  to  mention  '  liver, 
brain,  and  heart '  in  a  line  of  verse,  as  Shakspere  did. 
White-livered^  for  '  cowardly,'  preserves  a  trace  of  the  old 
physiology.  Other  words  which  have  lost  their  place 
in  tlie  poetical  vocabulary  are  blubber,  '  to  cry  hard,'  //'?/ 
(which  Spenser  applies  to  the  torments  of  the  damned), 
brine  for  'tears,'  crack  for  'loud  noise'  (as  in  'the  crack  of 
doom '),  spout  ('her  eyes  became  two  spouts  ').^ 

Occasionally  a  word  has  risen  in  dignity  or  agreeable- 
ness.  The  ascent,  however,  is  not  in  obedience  to  any 
general  tendency,  but  occurs  in  response  to  some  peculiar 
cause.  Marshal  meant  '  horse-boy  ' ;  seneschal,  '  old  ser- 
vant'; constable,  'stall-attendant,'  comes  stahuli ;  cham- 
berlain, 'the  servant  in  charge  of  the  chambers.'  I'ut 
when  the  king  was  the  master,  menial  service  was  digni- 
fied, and,  as  royalty  grew  more  splendid  and  the  life  of 

1  Shakspere,  Winter's  Tale,  act  iii,  scene  3,  1.  25. 


296  WORDS  AND   TUEIR    WAYS 

palaces  more  ceremonious,  the  old  plain  terms  became 
titles  of  honor.  This  process  was,  in  some  cases,  assisted 
by  forgetfulness  of  their  original  meaning.  Marshal  and 
seneschal  are  Teutonic  words  adopted  into  French  from 
Old  High  German.  As  the  Frankish  invaders  gradually 
gave  up  their  Germanic  tongue,  no  one  remembered  that 
-shal  was  scale  (modern  Ger.  iSchalk'),  '  servant,'  or  that 
7nar  was  'horse'  (akin  to  Eng.  mare'),  or  that  sene- 
meant  'old'  (cognate  with  L.  senex).  Constable  has  sunk 
again  in  some  of  its  uses.  It  was  once  the  highest  mili- 
tary title  under  the  kings  of  France.  Compare  the 
difference  in  rank  between  the  stetvard  on  a  steamboat 
and  the  Lord  High  Steward  of  England,  and  observe  that 
the  royal  family  of  the  Stuarts  got  their  name  from  being 
the  hereditary  stewards  of  the  Scottish  kings.  Other 
names  of  offices  or  occupations  have  risen  in  rank  with 
changing  circumstances  or  under  peculiar  influences :  as, 
—  hroker,  minister,  engineer,  ambassador . 

A  happy  figure  of  speech  may  dignify  a  word  forever. 
Pioneers  (earlier  pioners)  ^  were  soldiers  who  cleared  the 
way  for  an  army  by  felling  trees,  building  roads,  and 
doing  all  manner  of  hard  and  disagreeable  work.  They 
were  regarded  as  the  lowest  portion  of  the  army:  '  the  gen- 
eral camp,'  says  Othello,  'pioners  and  all.'  It  occurred 
to  somebody,  not  so  very  long  ago,  that  the  settlers  in  a 
new  country  or  on  the  borders  of  the  wilderness  are  the 
pioneers  of  the  great  march  of  civilization.  For  a  time 
this  pioneer  was  a  metaphor,  but  it  has  lost  its  figurative 
character,  is  usually  conceived  as  the  literal  sense  of  the 
term,  and  is  employed  to  make  new  metaphors,  as  in 
'■pioneers  of  scientific  discovery.' 

More  than  once  a  derisive  nickname  has  been  accepted 

^  Fr.  pioiinier,  ironipion,  the  same  word  as  the  pawn  iu  chess. 


DEGENERATION   OF  MEANING  297 

by  those  to  whom  it  is  applied,  and  has  thus  risen  to  the 
rank  of  an  ordinary  descriptive  term.  Yankee^  Hoosier, 
and  Whig  are  familiar  examples.  If  some  investigators 
are  to  be  trusted,  many  of  the  early  Germanic  tribal 
names  were  of  this  character.  There  are  abundant  exam- 
ples in  religious  history  :  as,  Puritan,  Quaker,  Shaker,  etc. 
It  is  possible  enough  that  when  the  '  disciples  were  called 
Christians  first  in  Antioch,'  it  was  by  their  enemies,  or, 
at  best,  by  those  who  despised  them  as  the  dupes  of  a 
false  prophet. 

The  adjective  7iiee  is  a  peculiar  example  of  linguistic 
processes.  It  originally  meant  '  foolish,'  being  derived 
(through  the  French)  from  the  Latin  nescius.  This  is 
the  regular  sense  in  Chaucer.  It  was  gradually  special- 
ized in  the  sense  of  '  foolishly  particular  about  trifles,'  or, 
as  we  say,  'more  7iice  than  wise.'  By  transference,  it 
meant  '  trivial '  as  applied  to  the  objects  themselves,  — 
'The  letter  was  not  uiee,  but  full  of  charge.'  Then  the 
idea  of  folly  was  lost,  and  '  particular  about  small  things,' 
'  accurate,'  a  distinctly  commendatory  sense,  came  into 
existence.  In  this  sense  nice  was  naturally  applied  to  per- 
sons, as  '  a  nice  observer,'  or  (by  transference)  to  actions 
or  qualities,  as  'nice  discrimination,'  'a  nice  distinction.' 
Thence  the  passage  was  easy  to  the  colloquial  sense  of 
'excellent,'  'good  of  its  kind,'  etc.,  in  which  it  is  applied 
to  everything  in  the  universe.  '  A  nice  apple,'  for  exam- 
ple, is  such  an  apple  as  a  nice  (or  discriminating)  judge 
of  apples  would  pick  out  for  his  own  eating.  In  this  use 
7iice  has  never  risen  to  the  dignity  of  being  a  literary 
word,  yet  it  has  made  good  its  position  in  respectable 
colloquial  language  in  America,  in  spite  of  the  vehement 
opposition  of  purists.  Nor  is  it  merely  an  Americanism, 
as  many  have  supposed.     Indeed,  it  is  far  from  certain 


298  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

that  the  use  originated  on  this  side  of  the  water.  How- 
ever that  may  be,  the  passage  from  '  foolish  '  (applied  to 
persons)  to  'excellent'  (applied  to  either  persons  or 
things)  seems  inexplicable  until  the  history  of  the  word 
is  known,  and  gives  us  one  more  example  of  the  folly  of 
appealing  to  the  Stoic  etymon. ^ 

Navghty  is  a  curious  example  of  the  ups  and  downs  to 
which  words  are  subject, —  particularly  words  of  approval 
or  reproach.  It  is  from  naugliU  and  meant  originally 
either  '  destitute,'  or  '  good-for-nothing.'  In  the  latter 
sense  it  became  a  general  synonym  for  'bad.'  King  Lear's 
fool  says  '  This  is  a  nauglity  night  to  swim  in ';  the  records 
of  Plymouth  Colony  speak  o'E  'small  and  nauglitij  canoes' 
(16G1).  In  its  application  to  morals,  naughty  was  perhaps 
a  euphemism  at  first,  but  it  soon  came  to  be  a  term  of 
extreme  reprobation.  '  A  naughty  world  '  and  '  nauglity 
lady  '  in  Shakspere  are  exactly  equivalent  to  '  wicked '  in 
Modern  English. ^  Since  his  time  the  word  has  lost  all 
dignity  on  account  of  its  application  to  the  peccadillos  of 
children.  When  used  of  older  persons,  it  is  purely  sport- 
ive, and  has  far  less  force  than  it  possessed  at  the  very 
beginning  of  its  career. 

The  whimsicality  of  affection  takes  delight  in  trans- 
forming abusive  words  into  caresses.  '  Lie  still,  ye  thief ^ 
says  Lady  Percy  to  her  husband.  Desdemona  is  Othello's- 
'excellent  wretch^  before  lago  springs  his  snares.  The 
dead  Cordelia  is  'my  poor /oo^  to  King  Lear.  Rogue^ 
rascal,  toad,  tyke  ('  cur '),  and  even  snake,  are  pet  names 
for  little  children.  All  this  is  akin  to  the  employment  of 
grotesque  pet  names  like  cltuck  (in  Macbeth),  honey,  haw- 

1  See  p.  230. 

'■^  We  may  compare  the  Latin  iiequam  and  uur  (jood-fur-nothiwj,  'a 
nobodu,''  and  the  colloquial  '  no  sort  (or  kind)  of  a  man.' 


DEGENEBATION   OF  MEANING  299 

eock  (from  beau,  '  fine,'  or  baud,  '  bold'),  and  queer  diminu- 
tives. Intimacy  or  familiarity  explains  these  phenomena, 
and  supplies  the  common  term  between  abusive  language 
and  the  dialect  of  tender  fondness.  On  the  one  hand  we 
have  the  familiarity  of  affection  ;  on  the  other,  the 
familiarity  of  contempt.^ 

Whenever  a  word  comes  to  have  a  disagreeable  sense, 
some  synonym  begins  to  take  its  place  in  ordinary  lan- 
guage. The  synonym  may  be  a  new  word  borrowed  for 
the  express  purpose,  but  it  is  more  commonly  a  word 
already  established,  which  may  suffer  a  slight  change  of 
meaning,  perhaps  by  being  more  generalized.  Thus,  when 
knave  began  to  acquire  a  disagreeable  signification,  servant, 
from  the  French,  took  its  place.  Servant  was  already  in  the 
language,  but  was  a  somewhat  more  dignified  and  special 
word  than  knave.  In  modern  usage,  with  the  spread  of 
democratic  feeling,  there  has  been,  particularly  in  America, 
a  tendency  to  abandon  this  word  servant  in  favor  of  help, 
or  domestic,  or  some  other  less  plain-spoken  term.^  This 
conducts  us  directly  to  euphemism,  which  will  he  treated 
in  the  following  chapter. 

1  Compare  fellow  (p.  287),  in  which  the  influences  here  described  have 
made  themselves  felt. 

■-  The  history  of  help  in  this  sense  is  fully  discussed  by  Albert  Matthews 
in  the  Transactions  of  the  Colonial  Society  of  Massachusetts,  V,  225  ff. 


CHAPTER   XXr 

EUPHEMISM 

Decency  and  propriety  are  powerful  forces  in  changing 
the  meanings  of  words,  or  in  driving  them  out  of  use. 
They  are  also  very  ancient  forces.  Indeed,  it  is  hard  to 
imagine  a  state  of  society  so  low  as  to  be  exempt  from 
their  operations.  Prudery  may  be  ridiculous,  but  it  is  not 
unnatural.  It  is  merely  the  self-conscious  expression  of 
tendencies  that  have  affected  language  from  the  remotest 
times,  and  that  have  their  roots  in  the  most  primitive 
philosophy  of  the  human  race.  The  propriety  of  the 
Hottentot  may  differ  from  the  white  man's  propriety, 
but,  such  as  it  is,  he  feels  under  bonds  to  observe  it,  and 
the  bonds  are  quite  as  stringent  as  those  which  regulate 
our  own  society.  In  particular,  he  is  very  loath  to  '  call 
a  spade  a  spade.' 

The  origins  of  euphemism,  then,  are  to  be  sought  not  in 
our  complex  civilization,  but  in  those  conceptions  of  lan- 
guage which  are  common  to  men  in  every  stage  of  culture. 
We  instinctively  avoid  the  mention  of  death,  and  take 
refuge  in  such  vague  or  softened  phrases  as  '  he  has  passed 
away,'  'he  is  gone,'  'the  deceased,'  'the  departed,'  'the 
late  Mr.  Smith.'  The  savage  feels  still  greater  reluctance. 
Sometimes  he  even  refuses  to  utter  the  name  of  a  per- 
son who  is  no  longer  living,  or  to  give  it  to  a  child,  so  that 
the  name  actually  becomes  obsolete  among  the  tribe.     This 

300 


EUPHEMISM  301 

agreement  between  the  civilized  man  and  the  savage  points 
to  the  solution  of  the  whole  problem.  It  is  unlucky  to 
speak  of  death  or  misfortune,  for,  in  all  men's  minds,  there 
is  a  mysterious  but  indissoluble  connection  between  the 
thing  and  the  word.  To  pronounce  the  word  may  bring 
the  thing  to  pass.  Here  we  are  on  familiar  ground.  The 
'  power  of  the  word,'  as  we  have  already  seen,'^  is  a  concep- 
tion that  appeals  with  equal  force  to  the  Stoic  philosopher 
(with  his  etymon)  and  the  medicine-man  with  his  rigmarole 
of  senseless  charms. 

Thus  euphemism  becomes  immediately  intelligible. 
Nothing  that  the  savage  does  or  says  is  free  from  cere- 
monial restrictions.  The  most  innocent  acts  or  speeches 
may  be  fraught  with  tremendous  consequences  if  they  vio- 
late a  taboo  or  run  counter  to  a  religious  requirement. 
Such  and  such  words  are  allowable  under  one  set  of  cir- 
cumstances, but  forbidden  under  another.  The  habit  of 
linguistic  caution  is  thus  formed,  and  what  we  call  decency 
of  language  is  the  last  result. 

The  Australian  aborigines  are  very  near  the  bottom  of 
the  social  scale.  Yet  they  have  many  rigid  rules  of 
decency  and  propriety  in  speech.  They  feel  no  hesitation, 
to  be  sure,  in  speaking  of  all  sorts  of  things  which  we 
never  mention  in  polite  society.  Yet  they  have  two 
words  for  almost  every  such  idea,  and  they  shudder  at  the 
thought  of  employing  the  wrong  synonym  in  a  mixed 
company.  In  short,  the  language  of  these  naked  savages 
is  provided  with  all  the  apparatus  of  an  elaborated 
euphemism. 

The  Greek  word  euphemhm  itself  has  ceremonial  con- 
nections. It  comes  from  ev  (eii'),  'well,'  and  (jirjui  {phemi), 
'to  speak.'     Ev(f)i]ixeiT€  (euphemeite'),  'speak  fair,'  the  im- 

1  See  pp.  228  ff. 


302  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

perative  of  the  corresponding  verb,  was  the  solemn  warning 
to  the  worshipper  not  to  disturb  the  sacrifice  by  speaking, 
lest  he  might  utter  some  ill-omened  word.  The  Romans 
had  a  similar  formula, — favete  Unguis,  'favor  with  your 
tongues. '  '  Utter  nothing  ominous '  would  have  been  itself 
an  ominous  utterance.  Even  '  keep  silence  '  was  too  sug- 
gestive of  evil  speech. 

The  superstitious  notion  involved  in  these  formulce 
manifests  itself  in  all  languages.  Ahsit  omen,  said  the 
Romans,  when  they  found  it  necessary  to  mention  an 
unlucky  or  disastrous  thing.  '  God  save  the  mark !  '  i 
is  the  nurse's  interjection  when  she  describes  the  wound 
in  Tybalt's  breast  and  touches  her  own  body  in  significant 
gesture.  Our  'Don't  speak  of  it ! '  gives  vague  expression 
to  the  same  feeling. 

Death  and  disaster,  then,  afford  a  starting-point  for  our 
study  of  euphemism.  We  have  already  mentioned  a  num- 
ber of  euphemistic  synonyms,  like  depart,  decease,  and  pass 
aivay.  Compare  the  end,  dissolution,  expire,  go  to  a  better 
world,  last  sickness  (or  illness),  breathe  one's  last,  lifeless,  the 
silent  majority,  gone  before,  fall  asleep,  among  the  missi7ig,  he 
lost  fifty  men,  he  is  no  more,  he  cannot  recover,  he  fell  in  battle, 
he  was  lost  at  sea."^  The  French /ew  (as  in  feu  roi,  '  the  late 
king')  is  iovfatutus,  hom  fatum  (cf.  'to  meet  one's  fate'). 
There  are  like  synonyms  for  kill:  as,  'to  make  way  with'^ 


1  Nobody  knows  the  origin  of  this  phrase,  but  its  use  is  clear  enough. 
The  many  explanations  suggested  for  its  origin  are  all  more  or  less  clever 
guesses. 

2  The  habit  of  using  trivial  or  slang  phrases  for  death  is  a  coarser 
expression  of  the  same  feeling. 

3  Compare  L.  tolln,  as  in  the  punning  epigram  on  Nero's  murdering 
his  mother  (Suetonius,  Nero,  ^^9)  :  — 

Quis  negat  Aeneae  magna  de  stirpe  Neronem  ? 
Sustulit  hie  matrem,  sustulit  ille  patrem. 


EUPHEMISM  303 

(or  'make  away'),  'to  put  away,'  'to  finish,'  'settle,'  'do  for,' 
or  'remove,'  'he  must  disappear''  (for  'be  slain'),  and  so  on. 
The  use  of  a  borrowed  word  may  serve  the  purpose  of  veiling 
the  truth,  —  as  mortal  or  fatal  for  '  deadly  ' ;  post  mortem^ 
obituary.  The  last-mentioned  word  refers  us  back  to  a 
well-known  Latin  euphemism,  ohiit^  for  ohiit  diem  supremam^ 
'he  has  met  his  last  day.'  Compare  post  obit  (for  post 
obitum^,  an  agreement  to  pay  money  after  some  one's  death. 
Suicide  (from  L.  sui,  '  of  one's  self,'  and  -cidium,  '  killing,' 
as  in  liomicidium ;  caedo,  'slay')  is  a  milder  term  than 
Hamlet's  self-slaughter.  And  felo  de  se  is  also  felt  as  less 
plain-spoken,  though  in  fact  it  embodies  the  savage  legal 
doctrine  that  a  suicide  is  a  '  felon  against  himself '  (or  '  in 
his  own  case '). 

Misfortune.,  mischa^ice.,  accident  (literally  'happening';  ac- 
.  cide7-e,  'to  befall'),  casualty  (L.  casus.,  'falling,'  'chance'), 
disaster  ('bad  aspect  of  the  planets'),  injury  (literally 
'injustice,'  'wrong'),  ruin  (L.  n<o,  'to  fall'),  are  all 
euphemistic  in  origin,  though  some  of  them  have  ceased 
to  be  so  felt.  Ill^  as  applied  to  sickness,  means  literally 
'uncomfortable'  (cf.  disease).,  but  has  come  to  have  a  much 
more  serious  sense. ^  Serious  itself  is  often  euphemistic 
when  applied  to  illness. 

So  far  the  superstitious  sources  of  euphemism  have  re- 
vealed themselves  unmistakably.  We  are  justified,  there- 
fore, in  assuming  a  similar  origin  when,  as  in  some  of  the 
examples  that  we  must  now  examine,  no  obvious  fear  of  ill 
luck  a.ttends  the  practice.  The  habit  of  employing  softened 
or  veiled  expressions,  once  established,  si)reads  to  all  the 
relations  of  life,  and  may  at  any  moment  be  intensified  by 

1  Our  ancestors  used  sick  for  all  kinds  of  disease,  grave  or  trivial,  and 
ill  for  tlie  discomfort  or  distress  attending  them.  '  Sick  and  ill '  v?as  a 
common  phrase. 


304  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

special  causes,  whether  of  reverence  or  courtesy  or  passing 
fashion. 

Profane  hxnguage  has  long  been  regarded  as  not  only 
irreverent,  but  vulgar ;  yet  the  propensity  to  curse  and 
swear  is  deep-seated.  The  result  is  a  singular  compromise 
which  has  produced  a  large  body  of  euphemistic  expressions. 
Some  of  these  are  ordinary  words  substituted  for  oaths  or 
curses  ;  but  others  are  grotesque  distortions,  resembling  the 
originals  in  sound,  but  having  a  different  meaning  or  none 
at  all.  Thus  arise  darn  and  dum  ;  all-fired  (for  hell  fire)  ; 
ffeeivhUUkens,  Jerusalem,  'Jerusalem  crickets,  geewldz,  and 
other  suggestions  of  Jesus  ;  Grodfrey,  goodness,  goodness  gra- 
cious, suggesting  God.  The  divine  name  has  been  strangely 
treated  in  such  expressions.  Gosh,  golly,  gorry,  and  so  on 
are  mere  vulgar  distortions.  Cox  my  passion,  hy  Cock, 
Coc^s  hones,  and  the  like,  are  attempts  to  avoid  profanity 
by  substituting  a  trivial  word.  Odd's,  as  in  Odd's  hodkins 
('  little  body  '),  Odd's  pitikins  ('  pity  '),  and  Odd's  my  life, 
are  clipped  forms.  'Sdeath,  'slife,  zounds  ('  God's  wounds '), 
and  so  on,  preserve  only  the  final  letter  of  the  genitive 
God's.  Gad  differs  from  God  only  in  an  affected  pro- 
nunciation of  the  short  o ;  yet  even  this  slight  change  is 
enough  to  satisfy  most  consciences.^ 

As  refinement  progresses,  great  reluctance  manifests 
itself  to  mention  various  parts  of  the  body  in  plain  terms, 
and  this  avoidance  is  extended  (by  association)  to  differ- 
ent articles  of  attire.  The  extreme  of  vulgar  prudery  is 
thought  to  have  been  reached  in  limbs  for  legs,  but  the 
substitution  is  not  different  in  kind  from  many  others  that 
have  established  themselves  in  the  language.  Shift  was 
originally  a  euphemism  for  sinock  (of.  Italian  mutande, 
'•  drawers '),  but  it  became  obsolete  because  it  was  in  time 

1  Cf.  p.  ni,  note. 


EUPHEMISM  305 

associated  with  the  body  itself,  and  the  French  chemise 
replaced  it.  Braivers,  also  a  enphemism,  is  avoided  for  the 
same  reason.  Even  imderelothes  is  ont  of  favor  (though 
underwear  is  the  trade  term).  Flcmnels  or  linen  have  be- 
come the  general  name  for  such  garments,  and  the  French 
Unge7'ie  (literally  '  linen '  collectively)  has  lately  been  in- 
troduced in  a  somewhat  special  sense.  Breeches  gave 
way  to  smallclothes  and  knickerbockers.  Waist  (literally 
'  growth,'  cf .  to  wax)  is  a  very  old  euphemism.  Corsage 
is  later.  Neck  and  Fr.  gorge  are  extended  beyond  their 
original  sense.  Petticoat  (literally  'little  coat'),  in  itself 
a  sufficiently  inoffensive  term,  has  shown  a  tendency  to 
give  way  to  skirt.  By  the  irony  of  fate,  this  substitution 
is  made  in  ignorance  of  the  original  meaning  of  skirt^ 
which  is,  in  fact,  merely  the  Old  Norse  word  for  sliirt.^ 
and  less  '  delicate '  therefore,  than  petticoat. 

Moral  delinquency  is  the  constant  object  of  courteous 
euphemism.  3Iisconduct,  misguided,  misdeineanor,  offence 
(from  offendo,  'to  run  into  one'),  fault  ('lack,'  'failure,' 
from  fallo,  '  deceive '),  a  slip,  a  Icq^se  (L.  lapsus,  '  slip '), 
transgression,  excesses,  immorality  (inores,  '  manners,'  then 
'  character ')  are  examples.  In  Australia  a  transported 
convict  used  to  be  called  an  '  old  hand ' ;  one  who  had 
served  his  time  and  been  discharged  was  an  expiree,  or 
more  politely,  an  emancipist.  '  He  is  short  in  his  accounts ' 
is  often  said  of  an  embezzler  in  this  country.  Any  right- 
minded  man  had  rather  be  called  a  defaulter  than  a  tliief. 
'  In  trouble '  may  be  used  of  a  person  who  is  accused  of  a 
crime.  One  for  whom  the  police  are  searching  is  said  to 
be  '  wanted.'  '  Sent  up  '  means  '  put  in  prison ' ;  '  executed' 
is  a  politer  term  than  'hanged..'  'You  lie'  is  an  insult, 
and  there  are  various  less  offensive  ways  of  accusing  a 
man  of  falsehood,  from  suggesting  that  he  is  '  somewhat 


306  WORDS  AND   THEIB    WAYS 

distorting  the  facts,'  or  'not  making  an  accurate  state- 
ment,' to  the  courteous  Elizabethan  '  I  fear  you  liave  done 
yourself  some  wrong.'  So  to  roma?ice,  'to  draw  the  long 
hoiv,^  '  to  give  a  free  rein  to  one's  imagination.^  Falsehood^ 
misrepresentatio7i^  misstatement,  and  tlie  colloquial  or  slangy 
jih,  big  story,  whopiyer,  taradiddle,  fish  story,  ^  fairy  tale,  are 
all  common  euphemisms. 

Wayiton  is  an  interesting  word  both  as  to  structure  and 
meaning.  It  is  a  shortened  form  of  waji-toweti;  wan-  being 
a  negative  prefix  meaning  un-,  and  toiuen  (A.S.  togeii) 
being  the  past  participle  of  an  old  verb  (A.S.  teon'),  'to 
draw  '  (related  with  tug,  Ger.  zieheyi,  and  L.  duco').  Hence 
ivanton  meant  literally  'not  (well)  brought  up,'  'un- 
trained,' and  was  applied  (as  noun  or  adjective)  to  a 
'spoiled  child.'  It  is  easy  to  understand  the  rise  of  the 
meaning  'playful,'  'sportive'  (in  an  innocent  way),  as 
in  '■wanton  lambs,'  and  from  this  the  modern  evil  sense 
developed  readily.  From  the  '  spoiled  child'  meaning  came 
also  the  sense  of  '  perverse,'  '  without  motive,'  as  in 
'•tvanton  mischief,'  Hvaiitoti  malice.'  Tlie  old  literal  sense 
of  'untrained'  led  also  to  the  meaning  'rank,'  'luxuriant' 
(of  vegetation) ;  and  the  sense  of  '  self-indulgent,'  '  luxu- 
rious,' came  from  the  '  spoiled  child,'  who  is  pampered. 

Sometimes  a  learned  or  scientific  term  is  used  as  a 
euphemism,  and  thus  becomes  popular.  We  have  ejfiu- 
vium  for  stench;  perspiration  for  siveat;  intestines  for 
imvards  or  insides;  indigestion  for  surfeit  or  over-eating ; 
intoxication  for  drunkenness;  dipsomaniac  for  sot;  idiot 
for  fool;  maniac  for  madman,  and  so  on. 

Euphemism  often  consists  in  substituting  for  a  positive 
word  a  denial  of  the  opposite  idea.     Thus,  for  dirty  we 

iFrom  the  tendency  to  exaggerate  tlie  weight  of  the  fish  one  has 
caught. 


EUPHEMISM  307 

may  say  untidij  or  unclean;  for  lying^  nntrutliful ;  for 
drunken,  intemperate ;  for  foolish.,  umvise;  for  ptcrfidious, 
unfaithful;  for  deceitful,  insincere;  for  abandoned  or  (7t;- 
praved,  tvortJdess;  for  war?,  insane  (literally  ?;o^  healthy 
or  so2md) ;  for  dangerous,  unsafe;  for  anxious,  uneasy; 
for  r?fc7e  or  boorish,  impolite  or  uncivil;  for  blimdering,  inac- 
curate, and  so  on.  In  most  of  these  cases  the  euphemistic 
word  has  become  quite  as  severe  a  reprobation  as  the  more 
outspoken  term. 

Crazy  (literally  'cracked')  and  insane  ('unsound') 
were  at  first  milder  terms  for  mad,  but  they  now  carry 
the  full  force  of  the  idea  in  question.  Disease  (properly 
'discomfort')  is  no  longer  felt  as  a  euphemism.  Vile  (lit- 
erally 'cheap,'  of  'small  value'),  vice  ('a  flaw  or  fault'), 
base  (literally  'low'),  caitiff  ('a  captive,'  'a  poor  fellow'), 
mercenary  ('serving  for  hire'),  i^idiscretion  ('lack  of  judg- 
ment'), transgression  (a  'stepping  across'  the  borders),  are 
similar  examples  of  the  effect  of  euphemism  in  degrading 
the  sense  of  comparatively  innocent  words. 

Observe  that  the  degeneration  of  words  (Chapter  XX) 
is  often  due  to  euphemism.  The  mild  or  decent  word, 
when  applied  to  the  disagreeable  or  indecent  idea,  begins 
to  be  shunned  by  speakers  on  account  of  its  dubious 
meaning,  and  soon  comes  actually  to  express  the  meaning 
which  it  was  intended  at  first  merely  to  suggest,  or  even 
to  conceal.  Thus,  for  dissolute  (itself  a  euphemism)  we 
have  almost  every  possible  word  that  means  '  lively '  or 
'  sportive,'  and  hence  these  words  acquire  a  doubtful  char- 
acter. Such  is  iva7iton,  just  discussed,  which  has  come  to 
have  a  distinctly  bad  sense,  and  such  are  gay,  lively, 
fast,  reckless,  a  sport.  This  use  may  be  merely  slang 
at  the  outset.  This  was  the  case  with  fast,  which  has 
a   curious   history.      Originally,    the    adjective   signified 


308  wonDs  AND  THEin  ^yAYS 

'fixed,'  'firm.'  The  corresponding  adverb  faste  (later 
fast^  became  very  common  in  the  sense  of  '  vigorously,' 
'extremely,'  and  (vaguely)  'very  much,'  and,  when  at- 
tached to  verbs  of  motion,  soon  acquired  the  special  sense 
of  '  rapidly '  :  'to  run  vigorously '  and  '  to  run  7-apidly ' 
mean  the  same  thing.  From  the  adverb  the  sense  of 
'  rapid  '  was  early  attached  to  the  adjective.  The  Special 
meaning  of  '  dissipated '  developed  first  in  the  expressive 
phrase  'to  live  /a.s^,'  —  which  got  into  literature  about 
1700,  but  must  have  been  colloquial  or  society  slang  some 
years  earlier.  Thence  came  the  adjective  use  in  such 
phrases  as  '  a  fast  life,'  '•fast  living,'  and  then,  by  trans- 
ference to  persons,  ^  ^  fast  man.'  Recent  slang  (partly 
from  euphemism,  partly  from  the  tendency  of  all  slang 
to  achieve  variety  by  means  of  synonyms^)  has  substituted 
rapid  and  sivift  for  fast,  in  tliis  sense,  but  neither  of  these 
words  has  yet  secured  admission  to  respectable  society. 

1  See  p.  09. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

HYPERBOLE   Oil    EXAGGERATION 

Exaggeration  is  often  regarded  as  an  abuse  of  lan- 
guage, and  so,  indeed,  it  may  become  if  it  is  recklessly 
indulged  in.  But  it  is  a  natural  and  ineradicable  tendency 
of  human  speech,  and  has  played  its  part  in  the  develop- 
ment of  our  vocabulary.  The  psychology  of  exaggeration 
is  simple  enough.  Strong  feeling  demands  strong  words. 
If,  as  often  happens,  we  feel  more  strongly  than  the  occa- 
sion warrants,  we  use  terms  which,  though  not  too  strong 
for  our  feeling,  are  disproportionate  to  the  facts  of  the 
case.  If  others  do  the  like,  and  employ  the  same  words, 
the  vocabulary  of  the  language  is  affected.  Our  strong 
word  becomes  the  sign  of  a  less  emphatic  idea.  It  loses 
vigor  and  relaxes  its  hokl  on  its  original  meaning. 

Examples  will  crowd  upon  the  reader's  mind.  A  single 
one  may  therefore  suffice  in  this  place.  Astonish  is  liter- 
ally 'to  thunderstrike '  (L.  ex-  and  touare,  'to  thunder'), 
and  was  once  common  in  the  physical  sense  of  'stun,'  as 
when  Fluellen  '  astonished '  Pistol  by  hitting  him  on  the 
head  with  a  cudgel.  It  was  also  used  metaphorically  for 
the  extreme  effect  of  terror  or  wonder  in  paralyzing  the 
faculties  for  the  moment,  —  a  man  who  was  '  astonished  ' 
was  in  a  kind  of  trance.  But  the  word  has  gradually  lost 
its  force,  till  nowadays  it  is  hardly  more  than  an  empliatic 
synonym  for  '  surprise '  or  '  excite  wonder.'  Amaze  has 
behaved  in  a  similar  way.  In  its  earliest  uses  it  conveyed 
the  idea  of  utter  physical  stupefaction,  or  loss  of  one's 
wits.     It  is  still  somewhat  more  emphatic  than  astonish, 

309 


310  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

but  is  far  from  maintaining  its  pristine  vigor.  Surprise^ 
which  meant  literally  '  to  seize  ujjon,'  '  to  capture '  (com- 
pare the  military  sense),  has  become  purely  descriptive, 
and  is  as  dispassionate  as  a  quadratic  equation.  When 
we  wish  to  express  the  idea  in  its  full  force,  we  resort  to 
emphatic  adverbs  (^utterly  amazed,'  '•profoundly  surprised,' 
'  unutterably  astonished '),  or  we  employ  new  terms  of  simi- 
lar meaning,  like  thunderstruck^  or  stupefied^  or  '■jyetrified 
with  wonder,'  or  the  colloquial  dumhfounded,  flabberyasted, 
paralyzed.  All  of  these  show  a  tendency  to  lose  force  as 
time  goes  on. 

Words  and  phrases  of  affirmation  and  negation  have 
been  particularly  affected  by  the  tendency  to  hyperbole, 
and  sometimes  in  very  curious  ways.  Yea  is  the  regular 
old  particle  for  a  simple  unemphatic  affirmative.  It  is 
related  to  the  pronominal  root  seen  in  our  yo7i  (properly 
'  that ')  and  the  German  jen-er,  and  must  originally  have 
meant  '  in  that  way,'  i.e.  in  the  same  way  in  which  the 
previous  speaker  has  said  the  thing  happened.  Compare 
the  biblical  '  thou  sayest  it '  as  a  polite  expression  of 
assent.  In  Anglo-Saxon,  however,  yea  (A.S.  yea')  had 
become  a  mere  affirmative  particle.  Yes  is  also  found  in 
Anglo-Saxon  in  the  form  yese  or  yise,  which  seems  to  be  a 
compound  of  yea  (^yea)  and  so  {sivd).  It  was  a  stronger 
affirmative  than  yea,  being  equivalent  to  our  '  just  so  ! '  or 
'  exactly  so  ! '  or  '  yes,  indeed.'  In  time,  however,  it  lost 
its  emphasis  and  is  now  the  regular  particle  of  affirma- 
tion. We  may  compare  the  modern  '  quite  so,'  originally 
emphatic  (since  quite  meant  'entirely'),  but  now  a  mere 
substitute  for  'yes.'^     Yea  has  gone  out  of  use,  except  in 

^  Tliis  use  of  (ptUe  so  f  has  grown  up  in  England  since  the  settlement 
of  America  and  has  never  been  adopted  in  this  countrj',  though  it  is 
sometimes  heard  in  conscious  or  unconscious  imitation 


UYPERBOLE  OR   EXAGGERATION  311 

dialectic,  poetical,  or  solemn  language.  Its  unfamiliarity 
and  archaic  quality  make  it  seem  more  emphatic  than 
yes,  though,  as  we  have  seen,  the  latter  was  formerly  the 
stronger  term.  All  sorts  of  hyperbolical  substitutes  for 
yes  have  grown  up  :  such  as,  —  by  all  means,  certainly,  of 
course,  to  he  sure,  surely  (and  in  recent  slang,  sure}.  Here 
courtesy  has  been  active.  It  is  good  manners  to  make  one's 
assent  as  cordial  as  possible.  In  time,  however,  as  we  have 
seen,  all  such  expressions  grow  weaker  till  at  last  they  are 
hardly  distinguishable  from  a  simple  '  yes.' 

JVo  has  a  somewhat  similar  history.  It  is  an  old  word 
for  neve?',  being  the  adverb  ^7,  '  ever,'  with  the  negative  ne 
prefixed.  Nay  is  the  related  Old  Norse  tiei,  of  similar 
meaning.  Originally,  then,  no  and  nay  were  as  strong  a 
negative  as  '  never  ! '  is  to-day.  Substitutes  have  grown 
up  in  plenty,  —  like  not  at  all,  hy  no  means,  and  so  on. 
Courtesy,  however,  which  demands  an  emphatic  yes,  sug- 
gests, on  the  other  hand,  the  propriety  of  softening  a 
negative  answer.  Hence  we  have  hardly,  scarcely,  I  think 
not,  and  a  score  of  similar  phrases,  all  of  which  have  come 
to  have  the  full  negative  force. 

The  tendency  to  emphasize  the  negative  may  also  be 
seen  in  a  number  of  figurative  expressions  with  not. 
Not  itself  is  merely  a  clipped  pronunciation  of  naught., 
'nothing,'  and  meant  originally  'not  a  bit,'  'not  a  whit.' 
Its  origin  was  soon  forgotten,  and  such  jjhrases  as  not  a 
mite  and  the  like  came  into  use.  Our  older  language  has 
a  multitude  of  these,  some  of  them  very  grotesque :  as, 
not  ivorth  an  oyster,  a  hen,  a  leek.  Not  a  jot  is  scrij^tural : 
'  One  jot  or  one  tittle  shall  in  no  wise  j)ass  from  the  law ' 
(Matthew  iv.  18).  Jot  is  iota,  the  Greek  letter  i  (our  i): 
cf.  '  not  an  iota.''  Tittle  means  a  '  little  bit ' ;  its  etymology 
is  doubtful.     If  such  a  phrase  becomes  idiomatic,  tlie  not 


312  WOEDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

sometimes  disappears,  leaving  behind  it,  however,  its  full 
force  attached  to  a  word  which  has  in  itself  absolutely  no 
negative  sense.  We  may  compare  the  contemptuous  much 
in  Elizabethan  English  in  the  sense  of  '  7iot  much ! '  as 
when  Falstaff  speaks  of  men  as  their  fathers'  shadows, 
adding  'but  7nuch  of  the  father's  substance  I'^  This 
process  explains  the  French  ^oz'wf,  'point';  rlen^  'thing'; 
and  pas^  'step'  (L,  passus),  in  their  negative  use,  and 
illustrates  in  a  striking  way  the  truth  of  the  statement 
on  which  we  have  already  insisted,  that  language  is  con- 
.ventional,  and  that  words  mean  what  the  speaker  intends 
and  the  hearer  understands. 

Emphasis  is  also  responsible  for  the  double  negative, 
which,  however  much  it  may  make  an  affirmative  in  logic, 
has  rarely  any  such  effect  in  language.^ 

The  examples  which  we  have  studied  suffice  to  illustrate 
the  effect  of  hyperbole  or  exaggeration  on  legitimate 
speech.  The  same  tendencies  come  out  with  even  greater 
clearness  in  the  colloquial  dialect  and  in  slang,  since  here, 
as  we  have  already  remarked,^  the  changes  are  so  rapid 
that  we  can  actually  see  them  taking  place.  For  this 
reason,  the  very  absurdities  of  slang  and  (since  the  word 
must  have  a  feminine)  polite  inelegance,  may  throw  a 
strong  light  on  the  processes  of  legitimate  speech,  as 
monstrosities  guide  the  naturalist  in  investigating  the 
normal  development  of  species.  We  may  select  the 
special  category  of  adjectives  and  adverbs  of  degree, 
which  will  be  found  particularly  instructive. 

Such  words  are  somcAvhat  inexact  in  themselves,  since 
the  feelings  that  prompt  them   are  seldom  well  defined. 

1  This  use  of  Much,  however,  is  more  likely  to  be  irony.  Cf.  '  Much 
he  knows  ! '  '  3IncJi  you  care  ! ' 

2  See  p.  220.  3  gee  p.  50. 


HYPERBOLE  OR  EXAGGERATION  313 

They  are,  therefore,  peculiarly  exposed  to  the  inroads  of 
slang  and  fantastic  colloquialism.  The  general  tendency 
to  exaggeration  is  strikingly  exemplified.  Take,  for 
instance,  the  descriptive  terms  or  ejaculations  of  pleasure 
evoked  by  a  view  or  spectacle.  Beautiful  and  fine  are 
natural  and  simple  expressions ;  but  they  soon  become 
too  weak  to  satisfy  the  enthusiastic  tourist  or  spectator, 
and  stronger  words  are  substituted,  —  such  as  lovely^ 
deligliffuJ^  sple7idid^  glorious^  superb,  grand,  ivonderful, 
gorgeous,  heavenly,  sublhne,  magnificent,  p>^'>'f^ct,  divine^ 
tremendous,  entrancing,  stupendous,  enchanting.  Of  the 
same  sort  are  the  genuine  slang  words  hang-up),  rattling 
good,  tip-top,  first-rate,  immense  (cf.  Ger.  kolossal),  stun- 
ning, corking.  It  is  to  be  feared  that  csome  of  these 
occasionally  force  their  way  into  the  less  vulgar  list. 
Charming  has  been  omitted  from  the  enumeration  because, 
though  originally  referring  to  superstitious  ideas  from 
which  the  minds  of  men  have  only  lately  been  liberated, 
yet  the  decay  of  the  word  has  been  so  rapid  that  it  is  now, 
in  its  ordinary  use,  a  pretty  tame  epithet.^ 

In  accordance  with  the  general  habit  of  language,  all 
the  epithets  just  mentioned  are  applied  not  merely  to 
beautiful  scenes  but  to  other  objects  of  sense,  and  also  to 
things  that  do  not  appeal  to  the  senses  at  all.  In  fact, 
they  are  emj^loyed  with  so  little  discrimination  that  they 

^  Enchanting  and  bewitching  have  retained  more  of  their  force.  Take 
wasouce  synonymous  with  '  bewitch,'  both  in  the  literal  and  the  figura- 
tive sense,  as  in  Shakspere :  '  No  fairy  takes  nor  witch  hath  power  to 
charm,  So  hallow'd  and  so  gracious  is  the  time'  (Hamlet);  'Daffodils 
that  .  .  .  take  the  winds  of  March  with  beauty '  (Winter's  Tale).  'A 
Haking  person,'  however,  or  '  a  taking  manner'  carries  but  little  of  this 
old  sense.  Fetching  has  been  recently  substituted  for  taking  in  polite 
slang,  —  'a  very  fetching  costume.'  Thus  language,  legitimate  and 
illegitimate,  insists  on  novelty.  '  Men  loven  of  propre  kinde  newefangel- 
nesse,'  as  Chaucer  says. 


314  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

are  almost  as  destitute  of  thought  or  defiuite  emotion  as 
the  contented  purr  of  a  cat  on  the  hearth-rug.  A  few 
simikir  terms,  however,  as  mce,  dear,  siveet,  powerful,. 
thrilling,  are  sufficiently  discriminated  to  exclude  them 
from  the  list,  but  even  these  are  made  to  cover  a  consider- 
able range  of  objects. 

The  terms  of  disapproval  in  this  dialect  are  also  very 
numerous,  and  quite  as  undiscriminating  as  those  which 
express  satisfaction.  Thus  we  have  nasty,  beastly,  rotten, 
loathsome,  shameful,  miserable,  outrageous,  atrocious,  dis- 
tressiyig,  horrid,  horrible,  auful,  dreadful,  frightful,  hateful, 
disgusting.  The  fondness  for  coarsish  words  is  note- 
worthy ;  but  since  the  dialect  tliat  we  are  considering  is 
particularly  affected  by  students,  society  buds,  and  other 
callow  persons,  the  attractions  of  the  fruit  defendu  no 
doubt  have  much  to  do  with  the  matter.  Such  words, 
however,  frequently  find  their  way  into  graver  dialects, 
and  one  must  infer  that  the  bend  of  the  twig  occasionally 
reappears  in  the  inclination  of  pretty  well-grown  trees. 
At  any  rate,  this  vulgar  tendency  may  often  be  observed 
in  adults  not  otherwise  ticketed  as  vulgar. 

When  such  adjectives  seem  too  tame  (as,  from  inordi- 
nate repetition,  they  constantly  do),  an  adverb  of  the 
same  kind  is  attached  to  them,  with  the  like  amount 
of  discrimination.  Thus  we  get  'superlatively  fine,' 
'ravishingly  beautiful,'  'awfully  fine,'  or,  on  the  other 
hand,  'awfully  horrid,'  'horridly  rotten.' 

There  is  nothing  '  modern '  about  these  tendencies. 
Our  ancestors  succumbed  to  the  same  temptation  in  their 
'  monstrous  fine,'  '  vastly  pretty,'  and  the  like,  whicb 
appeal  to  the  modern  reader  with  the  factitious  charm  of 
a  bygone  age. 

This  hyperbole  is  occasionally  seen  in  other  connections, 


HYPERBOLE  OR    EXAGGERATION  315 

as  '  extravagantly  fond,'  '  passionately  fond,'  and  the  like. 
Sometimes  it  crosses  itself  with  courteous  tendencies, 
stealing  the  livery  of  the  devil  to  serve  heaven  in. 
Thus  one  may  hear,  in  sober  utterance,  monstrosities  like 
'  Thanks  !  awfully  ! '  and  '  Awfully  good  of  you  ! '  In 
the  same  dialect  the  hyperbolic  infinite  and  infinitely  have 
been  replaced  by  '  no  end,'  thus  giving  the  somewhat 
ludicrous  '  Thanks  !  no  end !  '  and  other  exaggerated  ex- 
pressions which  embody  this  jocular  substitutionary  form. 

One  method  of  superlative-making  is  peculiarly  subtle. 
It  is  a  general  tendency  of  language  to  employ  absolute 
words  (like  perfect  or  true)  as  if  they  were  relative,  as 
when  we  'compare'  absolute  adjectives:  —  'more  per- 
fect,' 'most  perfect,'  'very  true,'  'more  true.'  Per  con- 
tra, an  adjective  that  is  ordinarily  relative  (like  liorrid 
or  nauseous)  is  unconsciously  assumed  to  have  an  absolute 
sense,  and  thus  to  be  capable  of  expressing  a  consum- 
mate degree  of  the  quality  in  question.  Hence  arise 
such  phrases  as  '•jjcrfectly  horrid,'  'absolutely  nauseous,' 
'disgusting  in  the  extreme,'  'extremely  objectionable.' 
The  emphatic  use  of  superlatively,  extremely,  utterly,  origi- 
nated in  this  manner;  but  these,  like  many  overdrawn 
words,  have  lost  their  force,  and  become  mere  synonyms 
for  very.  An  extreme  case  is  that  of  simply,  in  '  simply 
loathsome,'  'simply  ridiculons.' 

We  may  compare  such  expressions  as  'fine  and  wet,' 
'good  and  ready,'  'nice  and  warm,'  where  the  first  adjec- 
tive does  not  logically  belong  to  the  subject,  but  defines 
the  degree  of  perfection  in  which  the  quality  expressed  by 
the  second  adjective  exists.  Thus,  '  fine  and  wet '  is  '  finely 
wet,'  'nice  and  warm'  is  'nicely  warm,'  'good  and  ready  ' 
is  'well  ready.'  So,  in  ''finely  cheated,'  the  adverb  refers 
to  the  degree  of  perfection  with  which  the  cheating  is  done ; 


316  WORDS   AND   rilEIR    WAYS 

but  in  '■badly  cheated'  the  case  is  different.  The  distinc- 
tion may  be  clearly  seen  in  Latin.  Take,  for  example, 
any  adverb  with  a  'bad'  signification,  like  male  or  misere.. 
If  it  is  used  with  an  adjective  or  participle  of  a  similarly 
'  bad '  meaning,  it  enhances  the  degree  of  the  second 
member:  as, — male  mulcatus,  'badly  punished';  misere 
deeeptus,  'miserably  deceived.'  But  if  it  is  used  with 
an  adjective  expressing  a  '  good '  quality,  it  contradicts  or 
neutralizes  the  second  member,  and  hence  is  equivalent 
to  a  negative:  as,  —  ojiale  saiius,  'imsound.'  Contrast,  in 
English,  badlt/  beaten  (winch  is  practically  equivalent  to 
zvell  beaten')  with  badly  fed  (which  is  the  opposite  of  well 
fed). 

One  hyperbolical  phrase  of  degree,  eve?'  so,  now  firmly 
rooted  in  our  language,  has  a  curious  elliptical  form  and 
an  equally  curious  histor3^  In  the  Prayer-book  version 
of  the  Psalms  occurs  the  passage,  'Which  refuseth  to  hear 
the  voice  of  the  charmer,  charm  he  never  so  wisely.'  Mod- 
ern English  would  lead  us  to  expect  'ever  so  wisely,' 
though  the  pegative  form  is  still  occasionally  used.  In 
fact,  both  are  equally  logical.  'Charm  he'  is  of  course 
the  old  subjunctive,  equivalent  to  'let  him  charm,'  which 
might  be  followed  by  '■ever  so  wisely,'  i.e.  'however  wisely 
he  may  charm,'  or  by  ^ never  so  wisely,'  i.e.  'as  wisely  as 
no  one  ever  charmed  before.'  The  latter  is  easily  abbrevi- 
ated to  never  so,  which  sometimes  crops  up  as  an  isolated 
phrase ;  the  former  is  abbreviated  to  ever  so,  and  in  this 
form  becomes  an  idiomatic  intensive,  as  in,  '  I  liked  it 
ever  so  much,'  'He  can  run  ever  so  fast.'  Considered  by 
itself,  the  abstracted  fragment  seems  ludicrous  and  irra- 
tional;  but  it  is,  in  fact,  equivalent  to  'however  much  (or 
fast)  you  can  imagine'  or  'as  7nuch  (or  fast)  as  possible,' 
—  a  perfectly  logical  form  of  expression. 


HYPEUBOLE  OR   EXAGGERATION  317 

The  examples  which  we  have  drawn  from  '  words  of 
degree'  show  coiicliisively  how  impossible  it  is  to  separate 
the  operations  of  slang  from  those  that  go  on  in  legitimate 
speech.  Exaggeration  permeates  this  category  of  words, 
and  has  been  active  alike  in  the  slow  processes  of  gradual 
modification  by  which  our  vocabulary  is  affected  in  the 
lapse  of  centuries,  and  in  the  '  lightning  changes '  to  which 
the  dialect  of  the  streets  and  the  jargon  of  society  are 
subject.  We  may  now  turn  to  certain  special  fields  in 
which  the  tendency  to  hyperbole  has  manifested  itself  in 
a  peculiarly  interesting  fashion.  We  shall  find,  as  we 
have  so  often  found  before,  that  the  study  of  words  is 
in  reality  the  study  of  civilization.  The  investigator  of 
language  has  his  finger  on  the  pulse  of  human  society. 

There  is  one  tendency  of  speech  which,  though  founded 
on  a  firm  basis  of  psychology,  is  constantly  spoken  of  by 
those  who  know  nothing  of  the  ways  of  linguistics,  as 
'  new'  and  vulo-ar  in  the  extreme.  This  is  the  inclination 
to  use  words  more  grandiloquent  or  more  honorable  than 
the  occasion  calls  for  or  admits.  Such  a  tendency  has 
characterized  the  languages  of  all  cultivated  nations,  and 
seems  to  be  inherent  in  the  human  mind.  Vanity  and 
social  ambition,  on  the  one  hand,  combine  with  courtesy 
and  servility  on  the  other,  to  support  and  enforce  this 
natural  bent,  and  the  disposition  to  '  magnify  one's  office ' 
contributes  its  share  in  producing  the  final  result.  Con- 
trast the  'Men  of  Athens'  of  St.  Paul  (Acts  xvii.  22)  with 
the  '  Ladies  and  Gentlemen  '  of  a  modern  orator.  Think, 
too,  how  many  ages  of  active  and  passive  snobbery  are 
involved  in  giving  the  title  of  princeps,  the  official  designa- 
tion of  the  Roman  emperor,  the  master  of  the  world,  to  a 
petty  fortune-hunting  princelet,  without  power,  money, 
brains,  or  morals,  the   laughing-stock  of  his  own  order 


318  WORDS   AND   THEIR    WAYS 

and  the  dupe  of  those  Avho  pay  court  to  his  station.  One 
might  as  well  call  an  acolyte  an  archangel !  But  the 
tendency  is  slow  in  operation,  though  persistent  and  un- 
ceasing, and  we  may  well  be  surprised  at  its  effect  in  a  long 
lapse  of  time.  We  recognize  its  operations  in  such  queer 
phrases  as  saleslady  and  ^professor  of  bootblacking,'  but 
we  fail  to  see  its  potency  in  patriarch  and  p)atron. 

Abundant  examples  of  this  tendency  are  found  in  the 
names  of  places  wdiere  peo})le  live.  If  a  new  quarter  or 
village  is  to  be  laid  out,  every  motive  of  magniloquence 
comes  into  play.  In  America,  the  attraction  and  dignity 
of  urban  life  seem  greater  than  those  of  the  country,  and 
therefore  our  new  '  residential  district '  will  be  '  in  the 
vicinity  '  of  a  city,  but  never  '  on  the  outskirts.'  It  will  be 
furnished  with  some  name  that  has  'smart'  associations, 
—  like,  '  Hyde  Park '  or  the  '  Charles  River  Embankment.' 
Perhaps  a  '  boulevard '  will  be  laid  out,  without  considera- 
tion of  the  original  meaning  of  that  term  or  its  later 
derived  sense.  'Avenues'  will  be  numerous,  and  in  this 
country  'streets.'  But  in  England  'street'  smacks  of 
commerce,  which,  as  Cicero  says  of  Rome,  is  in  disrepute 
except  on  a  large  scale,  and  'road'  will  be  preferred  as 
more  suggestive  of  the  country-loving  gentry.  Thus,  at 
Oxford,  '  Banbury  Road  '  is  really  the  old  road  to  Banbury 
Cross  of  famous  memory,  but  '  Bardwell  Road '  is  a  brand- 
new  side  street,  leading  nowhere  in  particular,  certainly 
not  to  Bardwell,  which  is  miles  away  in  Suffolk. 

This  matter  of  road  and  street  is  a  great  curiosity.  In 
America,  where  trade  is  still  highly  respectable,  the  ten- 
dency to  magniloquence  has  changed  many  genuine  '  roads ' 
to  'streets,'  for  the  sake  of  the  urban  suggestion.  But 
lately,  in  blind  imitation  of  the  English  fashion,  little 
'  roads '  have  begun  to  be  laid  out  over  newly  improved 


HYPERBOLE   OB   EXAGGEBATION  319 

land,  in  defiance  of  every  topographical  principle. 
'Squares,'  'places,'  and  ^circles'  are  sure  to  al)oiind; 
but  '  laues '  and  '  alleys '  disappear  from  the  map.  A 
'park  '  will  certainly  be  found,  if  tliere  is  a  foot  of  ground 
dedicated  to  the  uses  of  the  public.  When  a  man  puts 
up  a  house,  we  hear  that  the  '  residence '  of  the  Honorable 
Mr.  Jones  is  'in  process  of  erection.'  'Villa'  has  hardl}' 
domesticated  itself  in  America,  but  is  extremely  common 
in  England  and  on  the  continent.  If  houses  must  be 
closely  built,  'block'  is  avoided  in  favor  of  'terrace.' 

All  this  is  obviously  magniloquence ;  but  '  cottage '  is 
a  different  matter.  The  history  of  cottage  in  America  is 
not  a  little  curious.  In  the  strict  sense  of  'a  laborer's 
dwelling,'  the  word  has  never  been  adopted  into  popular 
American  use.  In  fact,  we  have  never  really  had  the 
thing  in  America.  The  conditions  of  our  rustic  life  have, 
from  colonial  times  to  the  present  day,  differed  essentially 
from  those  in  England,  and  few  contrasts  are  greater  than 
that  between  a  rural  village  here  and  in  the  mother- 
countr}'.  Cottage^  then,  has  always  had  literary  and  sen- 
timental connotations  with  us,  —  like  rill  and  rivulet  and 
'woodland  glade.'  Of  late  years,  however,  the  habit  of 
spending  a  part  of  the  summer  in  the  country  or  at  the 
sea  has  become  almost  universal.  Small  houses  for  the 
accommodation  of  'summer  people'  called  for  a  special 
name,  and  cottage  seemed  to  meet  the  demand.  It  had 
precisely  the  rural  and  sentimental  associations  required, 
and  it  served  to  distinguish  these  temporary  shelters  from 
the  larger  and  more  substantial  '  houses '  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. Hence,  cottage  came  to  mean  a  'summer  residence,' 
however  splendid,  like  the  cottages  at  Newport,  which 
are  really  villas  on  a  very  grand  scale.  Cottager^  which 
in   England   signifies  a  person  of  humble  condition,  has 


320  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

thus  become  in  America  a  term  of  social  distinction  in 
contrast  to  those  who  take  up  their  summer  quarters  at 
boarding-houses  or  hotels.  A  somewhat  similar  develop- 
ment of  meaning  has  taken  place  in  England  since  the 
middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  so  that  cottage  is  freely 
applied  to  a  '  small  residence '  or  •  detached  suburban 
vilhi.'  It  is  not  likely,  however,  that  this  has  had  much 
effect  on  the  American  sense,  which  has  a  history  easily 
traceable  on  this  side  of  the  water.  Every  one  will 
remember  that  Coleridge's  devil  grinned  at  the  '  cottage  of 
gentility  '  with  the  double  coach-house  which  he  saw  in  his 
walk. 

For  Ids  darling  sin 
Is  pride  tliat  apes  humility. 

There  is  none  of  this  false  humility,  at  all  events,  in  the 
American  word,  which  has  got  its  meaning  by  legitimate 
inheritance.  Its  rise  in  dignity  is  not  deliberate  or  self- 
conscious,  but  due  to  changed  circumstances,  like  the  rise 
of  marshal  and  seneschal.^ 

The  derivation  and  original  sense  of  some  of  the  words 
which  we  have  just  examined  will  show  how  far  tliey  have 
wandered  in  obedience  to  the  magniloquent  tendency. 

Boulevard  is  a  French  corruption  of  the  German  Boll- 
tverk,  'bulwark.'  It  means,  therefore,  a  street  laid  out  on 
the  site  of  an  ancient  fortification.  As  this  is  never  done 
until  a  city  has  far  outgrown  its  walls,  a  boulevard  is  gen- 
erally in  a  thickly  settled  quarter  and  has  no  suburban 
associations.  On  the  contrary,  an  avenue  (from  Fr. 
avenir,  'arrive')  is  properly  an  'approach'  to  a  city  or  to 
some  conspicuous  part  of  it.  A  road  is  properly  a  way  by 
which  one  rides  or  travels,  a  'highway,'  and  is  naturally 

1  See  p.  295. 


HVPEBBOLE  OR   EXAGGERATION  321 

named  from  the  place  to  which  it  leads  (as  '  the  London 
lioad')  or  its  direction  ('the  Northern  Road'). 

Street  is  a  very  old  word  for  a  'paved  way,'  —  L.  strata 
(yia^.  It  was  first  applied  to  the  great  military  roads  of 
the  Romans.  It  is  now,  however,  associated  with  towns, 
since  cross-country  roads  are  seldom  paved. 

Way  is  the  most  general  term  for  any  kind  of  road  or 
street  or  passage.  It  is  connected  with  the  Latin  via,  and 
means  literally,  'that  over  which  one  moves.' 

A  la}ie  is  a  narrow  country  way,  not  a  highroad.  The 
term  is  crowded  with  poetical  associations,  which  are  lost 
in  the  dismal  reality  of  city  surroundings.  A  narrow  way 
is  seldom  pleasant  in  a  city.  Hence  the  term  is  not  in 
favor  in  urban  nomenclature. 

An  alley  (Fr.  allee)  has  long  been  a  rather  disparaging 
name  for  a  means  of  transit.  Surviving  or  revived  asso- 
ciations, however,  may  preserve  its  respectability. 

Villa  is  the  Latin  name  for  a  '  farmhouse '  with  its 
accompaniments,  and  from  the  nature  of  Roman  land- 
holding  might  be  used  of  a  very  splendid  estate.  Many  of 
the  houses  in  our  suburbs  would  be  properly  '  villas.'  As 
we  have  said,  the  word  has  never  made  itself  at  home  in 
America.  When  this  country  was  settled  it  was  not  used 
in  English  except  in  speaking  of  the  villas  of  the  Italian 
nobility,  —  that  is,  it  was  still  a  foreign  word  confined  to 
its  proper  application.  Thus  Evelyn  in  his  Diary  (Nov. 
12, 1644)  speaks  of  walking  '  to  Villa  Borghesi,'  which  he 
describes  as  '  a  house  and  ample  garden '  appearing  '  at  a 
distance  like  a  little  town,'  and  again  (Nov.  10)  :  '  We 
went  to  see  Prince  Ludovisio's  villa.  .  .  .  The  house  is  very 
magnificent,  and  the  extent  of  the  ground  is  exceeding 
large  considering  that  it  is  in  a  city.'  The  extensive  use 
of  villa  in  England,  and  its  magniloquent  application  to 
y 


322  WORDS  AND   TFIEIR    WAYS 

cheap  suburban  houses,  have  had  uo  effect  on  American 
English.  We  did  not  inherit  this  application  and  liave  not 
imported  it. 

From  the  magniloquence  of  vulgar  display  we  raa}^  pass 
to  a  subtle  influence  of  the  same  general  kind,  though 
different  in  its  motives,  —  the  exaggeration  that  comes 
from  courtesy.  The  extension  of  lad^  and  gentleman  to 
all  human  beings  is  often  unthinkingly  ascribed  to  push- 
ing self-assertion.  In  fact,  however,  it  comes  rather  from 
politeness  than  from  bumptious  democracy.  A  woman  in 
humble  circumstances  compliments  her  neighbor  b}^  call- 
ing her  a  '  lady '  ;  the  attention  is  reciprocated,  and,  the 
usage  once  established,  the  kindly  feeling  of  social  superi- 
ors prompts  them  to  employ  the  same  term  in  their 
intercourse  with  those  below  them.  It  is  the  courtesy  of 
democracy,  not  its  assertiveness,  that  brings  about  the 
results  which  amuse  us  in  saleslady/  or  ivasherlady  or  the 
gentleman  who  sweeps  the  crossing. 

We  can  study  these  tendencies  in  our  ordinary  terms 
of  courteous  address.  These  depend  first  on  the  institu- 
tion of  slavery,!  second,  on  respect  for  age,  and  third,  on 
apprenticeship  and  education.  From  the  first  relation 
come  all  the  words  that  represent  dominus  and  domina, 
such  as  don,  dame,  etc.  ;  from  the  second,  all  that  repre- 
sent senior,  such  as  sir/nor,  sieur,  and  sir  ;  from  the  third, 
all  that  represent  ynagister,  such  as  Blister  and  Miss.  The 
word  lady  is  of  the  same  kind,  but  is  of  native  origin,  and 
has  had  an  independent  development,  as  we  shall  see 
hereafter. 

The  progress  of   the   magniloquent   tendency  in   two 

1  White,  of  course,  because  generally  the  social  effects  which  we  are 
coi]si(lering  can  only  be  produced  where  there  is  no  permanent  physical 
(Jistiuction  between  maste-r  and  slave. 


nrPERBOLE  OR   EXAGGERATION  323 

thousand  years  is  well  illustrated  by  a  French  speaker's 
address  to  his  audience,  'Messieurs  et  Dames,'  literally 
'My  Elders,  and  Mistresses,'  which  has  become  a  mere 
courteous  equivalent  for  '  Men  and  Women.'  It  is  unneces- 
sary to  follow  all  the  steps  which  this  example  implies. 
We  must  rest  content  with  mentioning  enough  of  them  to 
establish  the  general  tendency  and  to  indicate  the  result 
as  we  see  it  to-day. 

In  the  society  of  the  Roman  Republic,  a  man  who  owned 
slaves  was  addressed  by  them  as  dominus.  This  term 
implied  rather  '  ownership '  than  mastership.  For  the 
latter  idea  there  was  an  old  word  (Ji)erus^  which  was 
gradually  displaced  by  dominus,  no  doubt  for  the  reasons 
that  we  are  now  considering.  The  wife  of  the  dominus 
was  called  domina,  —  a  mere  courtesy  title  (like  Frau  Pro- 
fessorin  in  German),  since  no  woman  could  be  properly 
domina  unless  she  held  slaves  in  her  own  right.  At  all 
events,  it  had  become  customary  for  a  household  to  address 
its  female  head  as  domina,  —  a  title  which  marks  the  social 
superiority  of  the  Roman  lady  over  her  Greek  sister.  Of 
course  a  slave  could  never  be  addressed  as  dominus  by 
anybody  except  a  slave  of  his  own  ;  but  many  slaves  were 
manumitted  and  grew  rich,  and  when  this  was  the  case,  a 
freedman  might  be  dominus  to  a  large  circle  of  depen- 
dents. When  the  establishment  of  the  Empire  made  all 
Romans  virtual  slaves  of  the  court,  the  terms  donmius 
and  domina  were  regularly  used  by  the  whole  population 
as  titles  of  the  highest  respect,  and  became  more  and  more 
common,  until  finally  we  get  the  Spanish  don  and  dona, 
the  Italian  donna,  the  French  dame  and  madame,  and  (from 
the  French)  the  English  dame  (once  common  as  a  title,  as 
in  'Dame  Quickly,'  'Dame  Trot')  and  madam.  It  will 
be  observed  that  the  application  of  the  feminine  forms  is 


324  WORDS  AND   TUEIB    WAYS 

more  general  than  that  of  the  corresponding  mascnlines, 
as  might  be  expected  from  the  greater  courtesy  that  is 
habitually  shown  to  women.  All  women  are  dames  in 
France  and  donne  in  Italy,  while  the  masculine  is  still 
slightly  restricted.  This  is  precisely  what  is  now  happen- 
ing with  the  English  lady^  but  no  one  ascril^es  the  change 
to  democratic  self-assertion  among  the  Italian  peasantry. 

Magister  is  in  classical  Latin  more  nearly  equiva,lent  to 
'  boss '  than  to  any  other  word,  and  has  to  do  with  joint- 
stock  companies,  or  other  associations  for  trade,  commerce, 
and  the  arts.  Probably  its  first  ennobling  use  comes  from 
ludi  marjister^  '  schoolmaster,'  which  appears  in  early  clas- 
sical times,  and  still  survives  in  its  English  form ;  but  we 
have  master  ivorkman  and  past  master  as  well,  which  sug- 
gest the  sense  which  was  mentioned  at  the  outset.  The 
Anglo-Saxons  borrowed  magister  without  real  change  (as 
mcegister')^  but  this  was  afterward  replaced  by  the  French 
form  maistre  (our  master^  modern  Fr.  maUre\  which  be- 
came to  all  intents  and  purjjoses  a  native  word,  and  was 
therefore  employed  to  translate  domine.  Hence  we  have 
Master  as  a  term  of  respectful  address,  later  corrupted  to 
Mister^  always  written  3Ir.  except  in  imitation  of  vulgar 
English.  The  fully  pronounced  master^  however,  is  still 
kept  as  a  title  for  boys,  as  well  as  in  the  various  uses  of 
the  word  as  an  ordinary  noun.  This  splitting  of  one  word 
into  two  is  a  familiar  phenomenon. ^ 

The  feminine  magistra  was  early  used  in  the  school 
sense.  Low  Latin  developed  a  new  form  magistrissa, 
whence  O.  Fr.  maistresse  (modern  maitresse')  and  our 
mistress.  The  latter  was  later  corrupted  to  3Irs.  (pro- 
nounced missis,  but  never  written  at  length),  which  was 
long  used  as  the  title  of  both   married  and  unmarried 

1  See  pp.  355-7, 


HYPERBOLE  OR  EXAGGERATION  325 

women.  Finall}^  however,  the  abbreviated  3Iiss  was 
applied  to  the  hitter.  Both  3L\  and  3Irs.  have  ceased  to 
be  specific  titles  of  honor.  They  are  applied  to  all  men 
and  women  of  whatever  rank.  But  they  are  still  titles 
merely.  They  have  never  become  ordinary  synonyms  for 
'men '  and  '  women.'  The  reason  is,  in  part,  that  we  have 
other  courteous  designations  for  this  purpose,  namely, 
gentlemen  and  ladies,  which  we  shall  examine  in  a  moment. 

In  the  development  of  titles  of  courtesy  from  the  senti- 
ment of  respect  for  age,  magniloquence  is  not  so  obvious, 
but  it  appears  on  a  moment's  consideration.  Senior,  'elder' 
(the  comparative  of  senex),  does  not  regularly  appear  as  a 
form  of  address  in  classic  Latin,  but  we  find  it  now  and 
then  as  a  respectful  designation  for  an  individual  (as  in 
Virgil's  senior  Acestes^,  and  the  use  of  similar  words  in 
other  languages  is  common  enough.  The  Greek  Trpea^v^ 
(preshus^,  '  old,'  and  its  derivatives  are  familiar  examples. 
St.  Isidore  informs  us  that  '•  i^reshyter  in  Greek  and  setiior 
in  Latin  indicate  not  mere  age  or  the  decrepitude  of  j^ears, 
but  are  used  for  honor  and  dignity.'  At  all  events,  senior 
had  established  itself  in  the  sense  of  '  lord '  or  "  master ' 
as  early  as  the  sixth  century,  and  it  has  given  us  the 
Italian  sicf7iore,  sir/nora,  and  signoriria,  the  Spanish  seTior, 
the  Portuguese  senJior,  the  French  sieur,  sire,  and  seigneur, 
and  the  English  sir  and  sire  (both  borrowed  from  the 
French).  It  is  certain,  then,  that  this  word  had  become 
a  title  of  distinction  (opposed  to  vassal),  and  that  courtesy 
extended  it  beyond  its  proper  boundaries,  with  the  result 
that  we  have  already  observed  in  dominus  and  magister. 
AVe  may  compare  the  slang  use  of  old  man  for  'boss'  or 
'  employer. ' 

Lord  and  lady  have  developed  their  meanings  some- 
what differently.     Lord  was  originally  '  bread -conserver' 


326  WOBBS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

or  'guardian  of  bread'  (from  lildf,  'bread,'  and  weard, 
'guardian'),  and  lady  is  thought  to  mean  'bread-kneader ' 
(though  the  last  part  of  the  word  is  doubtful).  From 
their  etymology,  then,  lord  and  lady  seem  to  have  signi- 
fied '  husband '  and  '  wife,'  or,  perhaps,  to  have  been  dis- 
tinguishing terms  for  a  husband  and  wife  of  some  rank. 
At  all  events,  lo7'd  occurs  early  as  a  translation  of  Dominus 
and  the  Greek  Kupto?  (^Kurios)^  as  applied  to  the  Supreme 
Being,  and  lady  is  also  found  in  respectful  address  and 
appellation  :  observe  especially  '  Our  Lady '  for  the  Vir- 
gin. But,  unlike  the  other  terms  which  we  have  exam- 
ined, lord  has  never  been  generalized. ^  It  remains  a  kind 
of  title  to  the  present  day.  With  lady,  however,  the 
case  is  different.  This  has  resolutely  gone  through  the 
generalizing  or  vulgarizing  process,  in  spite  of  every 
attempt  to  confine  its  application.^  The  effect  of  this  on 
the  word  ivoman  is  well  known.  Of  late,  however,  a  reac- 
tion has  set  in,  and  ivoman  seems  likely  to  be  restored  to 
its  full  rights  as  a  self-respecting  word.  Meantime  jyer- 
son  has  suffered  an  amusing  deterioration.  It  has  been 
more  or  less  employed  as  a  substitute  for  ivoman  by  those 
who  did  not  wish  to  countenance  the  vulgar  abuse  of  lady 
and  yet  shrank  from  giving  offence.  The  result  has  been 
to  give  a  comically  slighting  connotation  to  one  of  the 
most  innocent  words  imaginable. ^ 

The  adjective  gentle   (whence  gentleman)   is  from  the 

1  The  French  milord  for  'gentleman'  and  the  modern  Greek  lordos 
(for  Kvpios),  '  Mr.,'  illustrate  what  might  well  have  taken  place  in  English. 

'■^  The  substitution  of  Fran  fur  Wcih  in  German  affords  a  precise  paral- 
lel. '  Washerlady  '  for  '  washerwoman '  is  not  different  from  Waschfrau 
for  Wnschioeih,  except  that  in  German  the  change  has  been  accepted  in 
legitimate  speech.  Fran  is  a  highly  honorable  word  in  its  origin,  being 
cognate  with  A.S.  frea,  'lord,'  'prince,'  and  the  Old  Norse  Freyr  and 
Freyja,  the  names  of  a  god  and  a  goddess  respectively. 

"  For  the  etymology  of  person  see  p.  268. 


HYPEBBOLE  OR  EXAGGERATION  327 

Latin  [/ens,  and  means  properly  '  belonging  to  one  of  the 
great  families  or  gentes  of  Rome.'  It  implied,  therefore, 
in  its  first  use  in  English,  high  station  and  what  we  may 
call  '  gentle  breeding,'  and  came,  in  England,  to  be  applied 
to  a  definite  rank  in  society,  corresponding  to  that  of  the 
'lower'  or  untitled  nobility  of  the  Continent  Q ye  gentles 
all').  The  adjective  ^g?^«^?g,  however,  had  acquired  a  sec- 
ondary meaning  in  French  before  it  was  taken  into  our 
language.  It  liad  been  applied,  by  association  of  ideas, 
to  the  characteristics  supposed  to  accompany  higli  birth 
(exactly  as  in  the  case  of  tiohle,  generous,  courteous,  and 
the  like),  and  this  sense,  still  further  limited,  has  pre- 
vailed in  English.  Gentleinan,  however,  has  not  gone 
quite  so  far.  In  England  it  has  retained  its  literal  mean- 
ing of  'a  man  of  good  family.'  Still,  even  there,  the 
extension  of  the  word  has  been  so  great  that  the  phrase 
'  gentleman  by  birth '  has  often  to  be  employed  to  prevent 
ambiguity.  Indeed,  the  moral  or  ethical  sense  of  gentle- 
man was  insisted  on  long  ago  by  Chaucer,  who  defined 
the  true  gentleman  as  one  who  always  tries  to  '  do  the 
gentil  dedes  that  he  can.'i  Pope's  famous  line  'Worth 
makes  the  man  and  want  of  it  the  fellow,'  points  the  same 
distinction  between /eZ^oz^;  and  man  which  many  now  make 
between  man  and  getitleman,  and  Pope's  verse  correctly 
represents  the  usage  in  this  country  fifty  years  ago. 

Courtesy,  however,  has  affected  gentleman  exactly  as  it 
has  affected  lady  and  many  other  terms  of  respect.  It  has 
become,  in  vulgar  use,  a  mere  synonym  for  man,  without 
regard  to  birth  or  breeding.     A  young  woman  once  spoke 

1  The  definition  did  not  originate  with  Chaucer.  Discussion  of  tlie  true 
nature  of  gentility  and  courtesy,  as  opposed  to  tlie  accident  of  birtli,  con- 
siderably antedates  his  time.  There  is  a  line  passage  of  tlie  kind  in  the 
Roman  de  la  Rose,  which  inspired  the  well-kuown  homily  of  the  lady  in 
the  Tale  of  the  Wife  of  Bath. 


328  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

of  a  room  in  an  art  museum  as  '  the  room  where  all  those 
gentlemen  are,'  referring  to  the  casts  of  antique  statuary. 
Tlie  incident  is  significant  enough.  It  illustrates  the  ten- 
dency to  call  all  men  (even  in  plaster)  '  gentlemen.'  But 
it  does  more.  It  shows  how  free  such  language  is  from 
self-assertion.  The  same  lesson  may  be  learned  from  the 
respectful  formula  '  Gentlemen,'  which  is  freely  employed 
in  addressing  one's  audience,  even  by  speakers  who  would 
never  be  guilty  of  the  vulgarism  of  making  yeiitleman  a 
mere  synonym  for  'male  human  being.'  Courtesy,  not 
democratic  push,  is  the  explanation  of  the  kind  of  mag- 
niloquence which  we  have  been  studying.  There  is 
nothing  '  new '  or  essentially  vulgar  in  the  process  as 
demonstrated  by  the  facts  that  we  have  presented.  Tlie 
history  of  the  commonest  forms  of  address  in  our  family 
of  languages  is  precisely  parallel  to  the  latest  and  most 
amusing  extensions  of  lady  and  gentleman. 

Thus  we  have  examined  the  tendency  to  exaggeration 
in  several  of  its  most  striking  manifestations.  We  have 
seen  its  effect  in  weakening  strong  words  like  astonish  and 
amaze ;  and  we  have  followed  its  operations  in  Avords  of 
degree,  in  self-assertive  magniloquence,  and  in  terms  of 
courteous  address.  It  has  certainly  made  good  its  claim 
to  be  regarded  as  a  considerable  motive  power  in  the 
development  of  our  vocabulary. 

Hyperbole  is  a  favorite  object  for  the  animadversions  of 
critical  rhetoricians.  It  is  undoubtedly  necessary  to  con- 
trol this  tendency  in  'forming  a  style.'  But  the  same  is 
true  of  metaphor,  or  simile,  or  antithesis,  or  alliteration  — 
indeed,  of  every  linguistic  tendency  that  can  be  men- 
tir)ned.  Ne  quid  'nimis  is  tlio  most  elementary  of  stylistic 
rules.     To  point  the  moral,  however,  by  calling  attention 


HYPERBOLE  OR   EXAGGERATION  329 

to  the  weakening  effect  wliicli  continuous  liyperbole  has 
had  on  this  or  that  English  word  in  the  course  of  centu- 
ries, is  ill-considered.  For  this  effect  is  no  more  deplora- 
ble than  any  other  linguistic  change.  Language  can 
never  stand  still  so  long  as  it  is  alive,  and  hyperbole  is 
merely  one  of  the  many  causes  which  operate  to  alter  it 
from  age  to  age.  Any  loss  is  at  once  made  good  by  the 
employment  of  less  used  synonyms,  by  fresh  figures  of 
speech,  or  by  the  coinage  or  borrowing  of  new  words. 
Extravagant  hyperbole  is  ridiculous  because  it  is  extrava- 
gant, not  because  it  is  hyperbole. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

FOLK-ETYMOLOGY 

Systematic  etymology  is  a  high  mystery,  requiring  of 
its  initiates  long  and  painful  preparation,  and  cultivated 
by  its  adepts  at  the  price  of  eternal  vigilance.  But 
scholars  are  not  the  only  etymologists.  Curiosity  about 
the  make-up  of  words  and  about  their  sources  is  univer- 
sal. We  are  continually  proposing  to  ourselves  problems 
in  derivations,  and  solving  them  to  our  own  satisfaction 
without  regard  to  the  dictionaries.  Many  words,  to  be 
sure,  are  passively  accepted  without  inquiry.  It  seldom 
occurs  to  us  to  ask  why  a  stone  is  called  a  stone^  or  why 
bread  goes  by  the  name  of  bread,  —  and  so  of  most  of  the 
very  familiar  words  in  our  vocabulary.  In  such  cases  we 
accept  the  name  as  belonging  to  the  thing  by  nature.  But 
we  are  not  always  so  easily  satisfied.  We  are  aware  that 
a  vast  number  of  words  are  actually  derived  from  some- 
thing else.  Kindness  and  kindly  are  manifestly  formed 
from  kind,  friendshij)  from  frie^id,  blackish  from  black. 
Many  compounds  also  tell  their  own  story  :  as,  knifeblade 
and  dogivJdp  and  schoolboy  and  breakfast  and  fisherman. 
Further,  we  see  that  words  are  gregarious,  that  they  live 
and  move  in  groups,  larger  or  smaller,  and  many  such 
groups  are  always  present  to  our  minds  :  as,  —  true,  truth, 
untrue,  untruth,  truthful,  etc. ;  strong,  strongly,  strength, 
strengthen;  fill,  full,  fulness,  fulsome,  fulfil.^     Hence  we 

1  Cf.  p.  193. 
330 


FOLK-ETYMOLOGY  331 

unconsciously  attempt  to  associate  every  strange  word 
with  its  group,  or  at  all  events  with  some  other  word 
whose  company  shall  preserve  it  from  utter  loneliness. 
Thus  every  speaker  of  any  language  is  to  some  extent  his 
own  etymologist.  Children,  even,  have  their  theories  of 
etymological  relations.  A  little  girl  who  had  heard 
many  stories  about  the  mischievous  doings  of  an  imagi- 
nary '  Wilhelmina,'  asked  whether  this  personage  was  not 
so  called  because  she  was  so  mean.  The  question  was 
typical  of  a  process  which  is  always  active  in  linguistic 
history,  and  which  goes  by  the  name  of  folk-etymolo<jy.^ 

In  its  simplest  operations,  folk-etymology  merely  asso- 
ciates together  words  which  resemble  each  other  in  sound 
and  show  a  real  or  fancied  similarity  of  meaning,  but 
which  are  not  at  all  related  in  their  origin :  as,  —  liag  and 
haggle;  lumk  (the  bird)  and  hawker;  raven  (the  bird)  and 
ravening;  horse  and  hostler.  Often,  however,  the  erro- 
neous association  has  a  perceptible  effect  on  the  form  or 
the  sense  of  a  word,  so  that  folk-etymology  becomes  a 
transmuting  power  in  language. 

The  change  may  be  very  slight,  affecting  only  the  or- 
thography. Thus  surloin  (from  sur-,  '  above ')  is  usually 
spelled  sirloin,  as  if  from  sir.  A  ludicrous  anecdote  tells 
how  an  English  king  once  knighted  a  loin  of  beef  in  en- 
thusiastic appreciation  of  the  national  dish.  So  '  Welsh 
rabbit '  is  often  spelled  rarebit  (and  even  so  pronounced), 
from  a  whimsical  notion  that  it  is  compounded  of  rare  and 
bit.  In  fact,  however,  '  Welsh  rabbit '  is  merely  a  joke, 
like  '  Cape  Cod  turkeg  '  for  codjish,  the  Australian  '  colonial 

1  An  adaptation  of  the  German  Volksetymologie.  '  Popular  etymology ' 
is  an  attempt  to  translate  the  same  word.  In  fact,  our  language  is  some- 
what at  a  loss  for  a  graceful  and  convenient  term  under  which  to  classify 
the  phenomena. 


332  WORDS   AND    THEIR    WAYS 


(joosc '  for  a  leg  of  mutton  with  savory  herbs,  and  the  old 
'  French  of  Norfolk '  for  the  Norfolk  dialect  of  English. ^ 
Sloivworm  is  not  from  sloiv.  The  Anglo-Saxon  form  is. 
sid-ivi/rm,  probably  related  to  slean^  '  strike,'  '  slay '  (akin 
to  Ger.  schlageyi).  Though  quite  harmless,  the  creature 
has  always  been  regarded  with  terror  by  the  people. 
Shmorin  would  regularly  give  do-worm  in  Modern  English. 
Hiccough  is  variously  spelled  in  older  English  {hichip, 
hlcock,  hickef)  and  is  doubtless  an  imitative  word ;  it  is 
certainly  not  derived  from  cough. 

A  recent  French  novelist  renders  teetotaller  by  totaliseur 
du  tht%  as  if  it  were  tea-totaller?  though  in  fact  it  is  from 
teetotal^  which  is  merely  a  reduplicated  form  of  total  (cf. 
mishmash,  tittle-tattle,  hihhle-hahhle,  the  German  Wirrtvarr^ 
and  the  like).  Recent  slang  gives  the  name  teetotum  to  a 
tea  or  coffee-house  conducted  by  the  charitable  as  an  offset 
to  the  dramsliop.  This  is  merely  a  poor  pun,  and  nobody 
ever  thought  that  teetotum  and  teetotaller  were  etymologi- 
cally  connected,  but  its  coinage  differs  from  folk-etymology 
merely  in  being  jocose  and  intentional.  Teetotum,  by  tlie 
way,  is  T  totum.  When  used  for  gambling,  the  teetotum 
had  a  T  on  one  of  its  four  sides,  standing  for  '  take  all  the 
stakes.' 

But  changes  in  spelling  come  oftener  from  scholars  than 
from  the  people,  and  the  learned  have  done  their  part  in 
disguising  English  words.  Rhyme,  for  instance,  is  the 
Anglo-Saxon  rim,  '  measure,'  and  would  naturally  be  rime 
in  Modern  English.      But  scholars  attempted  to  derive  it 

1  Cf.  'peddlers'  French'  ior  the  uryut  of  vagabonds  (thieves'  shuig). 

-  Tliis  derivation  has  often  been  seriously  entertained.  The  opposite 
l)henonienon  is  seen  in  tea-tree,  the  name  of  various  Australian  shrubs 
whose  foliage  has  been  used  as  a  substitute  for  tea.  This  is  sometimes 
written  ti-tree  and  even  ti-tri,  under  the  mistaken  inipressioji  that  it  is  an 
aboriginal  word. 


FOLK-ETYMOLOGY  333 

from  the  Greek  rh/jthmos  (^whence  rh^thyn  comei^),  awd  the 
absurd  spelling  rhjjjne  is  the  result  of  their  efforts.  Jii7)i(' 
is  now  preferred  by  many  writers,  and  is  steadily  gaining 
ground  ;  but  printers  are  stubborn,  and  it  is  hard  to  resign 
the  hard-won  spoils  of  our  youthful  campaigns  in  the 
spelling-book.  The  adoption  of  the  '  learned '  spelling 
rhyme  had  of  course  had  no  effect  on  the  pronunciation.^ 
In  many  instances,  however,  a  new  spelling  has  changed 
a  word  considerably.  Thus  perfect  was  parfit  or  pa7fet, 
being  derived  not  directly  from  the  Latin  perfectus  but 
from  the  Old  French  parft^  parfet  (modern  paifaiV). 
Scholars,  however,  substituted  tiie  form  perfect  in  the 
sixteenth  century,  and  for  some  decades  the  word  was 
thus  spelled,  though  still  pronounced  parfit  or  perfetP-  In 
time,  however,  the  spelling  carried  the  pronunciation 
with  it,  and  we  have  the  modern  word. 

But  we  must  return  to  popular  etymology,  from  which 
the  parallel  phenomenon  of  learned  error  has  diverted  us 
for  a  moment. 

Folk-etymology  ordinarily  affects  more  than  the  asso- 
ciations of  a  word  or  its  spelling.  It  transforms  the  word, 
in  whole  or  in  part,  so  to  bring  it  nearer  to  the  word  or 
words  with  which  it  is  ignorantly  thought  to  be  con- 
nected. The  process  is  not  confined  to  any  single  con- 
stituent part  of  our  vocabulary,  but  its  eft'ects  are  most 

1  Other  examples  of  spelling  influenced  by  erroneous  etymology  may  be 
seen  in  scissors,  whicli  is  not  from  L.  scissor,  'cutter,'  but  from  0.  Fr. 
cisoires  (modern  cisecmx),  from  L.  caedo ;  style,  whicli  is  L.  stilus,  not 
Gr,  (TTvXos;  searcloth  for  cerecloth,  'waxed  cloth'  (L.  cerum  'wax'); 
and  the  obsolete  satyr(e)  for  satire,  adopted  under  the  impression  that 
the  word  came  from  satyr,  whereas  it  is  really  the  Latin  [/awx]  satura, 
'full  plate,'  a  name  given  by  the  Romans  to  an  'olio'  or  'mixed  dish,' 
and  transferred  in  Latin  to  a  '  poetical  medley '  and  (somewhat  later) 
to  '  satire '  in  the  usual  sense. 

■^  See  Campion,  \m>.  Works,  ed.  Bulleu,  p.  250. 


334  WORDS  AND  TTIEin   WAYS 

commonly  felt  in  foreign  derivations.  The  reason  is  clear, 
and  may  be  seen  in  a  familiar  example  :  — the  corruption 
of  asparagus  to  spa7'7'ow  grass,  wliicli  is  now  regarded  as 
vulgar  but  which  was  in  good  use  in  the  eighteenth  and 
early  nineteenth  centuries.  Such  a  word  as  asparagus 
stands  alone  in  our  vocabulary.  The  learned  knew  that  it 
was  the  Latin  asparagus,^  borrowed  intact,  like  so  many 
other  terms  from  that  language,  and  the  fact  that  it  had 
no  relatives  in  English  'made  no  difference  to  them,  for 
they  associated  it  with  the  Latin.  To  the  people,  how- 
ever, who  knew  nothing  of  its  origin,  it  was  an  English 
word  like  any  other;  and  their  minds  unconsciously 
attempted  to  associate  it  with  some  other  word  or  words 
with  which  they  were  familiar.  It  was  long  enough  to  be 
a  compound.  Its  last  syllable  sounded  like  a  slovenly  pro- 
nunciation of  gi-ass.  There  were  already  many  plant  names 
in  which  grass  was  the  last  syllable.  A-  is  easily  lost,  and 
sparroiv  is  vulgarly  sparra.  The  result  was  inevitably 
sparrowgrass,  —  a  form  which  immediately  satisfied  the 
popular  conscience.  True,  the  plant  had  nothing  to  do 
with  sparrows,  but  one  cannot  have  everything  in  this 
world.  What  has  dog-grass  to  do  with  dogs?  In  gen- 
eral, the  etymologizing  tendency  which  we  are  studying  is 
easily  satisfied.     Half  a  loaf  is  better  than  no  bread. 

Take  cutlass,  for  instance.  It  is  the  French  coutelas 
(from  L.  cuUellus,  'knife'),  but  owes  its  present  form 
to  a  fancied  connection  with  cut."^  Lass  seemed  to  be 
English  enough  already,  and  suffered  no  change  at  first, 
though  lasses  have  nothing  to  do  with  swords.     Half  of 

1  The  Latin  took  the  word  from  the  Greek  aavapayo^  (perhaps  con- 
nected with  cTirapyav,  '  to  swell  with  sap'). 

■■^  The  I  of  cultpJlns  would  regularly  disappear  in  French.  Chit  has 
nothing  to  do  with  either  French  or  Latin,  but  is  thought  to  be  of  Celtic 


FOLE-ETYMOLOGT  335 

the  word  had  an  appropriate  meaning,  at  all  events,  and 
for  a  time  the  popular  feeling  was  content.  And  it  has 
remained  content  except  among  sailors,  who  did  not  like 
to  call  their  favorite  weapon  by  a  name  that  was  not  com- 
pletely intelligible.  Cutlass  seemed  wrong,  somehow,  and 
accordingly  they  made  it  into  cutlash,  both  parts  of  which 
were  eminently  satisfactory,  just  as  they  made  the  old 
man-o'-war  Bellerophon  into  Bully  Ruffian. 

Often  there  is  only  the  slenderest  connection  in  sense, 
or  none  at  all,  between  two  words  that  are  thus  associated 
by  popular  etymology.  In  such  cases  we  think  it  enough 
to  give  the  strange  term  a  familiar  sound.  Sense  may 
take  care  of  itself,  as  it  does  in  so  large  a  part  of  our 
vocabulary.  Thus  lanyard  is  the  French  laniere,  '  thong ' 
(L.  lacinia^,  transformed  by  association  with  yai^d.  The 
first  syllable  is  left  undisturbed.  Lutestring,  a  kind  of 
silk,  is  for  lustrine/,  itself  a  corruption  of  Fr.  lustrine  (from 
the  gloss  or  lustre  of  the  material).  Nowadays  the  name 
is  practically  confined  to  ribbon,  perhaps  because  this 
resembles  string. 

But  popular  etymology  is  not  confined  to  foreign  bor- 
rowings. It  affects  native  words  as  well.  Sand-blind,  for 
instance,  is  for  samhlind,  in  which  sam-  is  an  Anglo-Saxon 
prefix,  meaning  'half  (akin  to  L.  semi-').  So  long  as 
this  prefix  remained  intelligible,  there  was  no  temptation 
to  change  it.  But  sam-  became  obsolete,  and  was  therefore 
as  tantalizing  to  the  etymological  consciousness  of  the 
folk  as  if  it  had  been  exotic.  Sand  in  the  eyes  would 
cause  temporary  blindness  :  cf .  '  throw  dust  in  one's  eyes  ' 
for  'deceive.'  A  very  pretty  song  describes  with  much 
particularit}^  the  function  of  'the  Sand-\n?a\''  who  puts 
babies  to  sleep. 

Shamefaced  was  formerly  shamefast.     The  second  sylla- 


33G  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

ble  was  the  adjective /as^,  literally  'confirmed,'  which  was 
used  in  Anglo-Saxon  to  make  adjectives.  Shame  meant 
'  modesty '  and  shamefast  was  merely  '  modest '  in  a  good 
sense.  When  the  old  termination  went  out  of  use,  popu- 
lar etymology  got  hold  of  the  word,  and,  in  its  eagerness 
to  make  things  intelligible,  transformed  it  into  shame- 
faced. In  this  instance  (as  in  many  otliers)  the  new 
associations  of  the  word,  consequent  on  its  new  ety- 
mology, have  somewhat  modified  its  sense.  Shamefaced 
now  means  not  so  much  '  modest '  as  '  bashful '  or  '  discon- 
certed,' —  showing  shame  in  one's  face. 

A  number  of  examples  of  native  and  foreign  words 
that  have  been  distorted  by  folk-etymology  will  now  be 
given  without  any  attempt  at  classification.  The  reader 
will  see  that  in  some  instances  the  change  has  been  slight ; 
in  others,  thoroughgoing.  The  whole  word  may  be  af- 
fected, or  only  a  part  of  it.  When  two  syllables  are 
equally  unintelligible  to  the  popular  mind,  one  may  be 
changed  and  the  other  remain  as  inscrutable  as  before. 
Sometimes  there  is  an  obvious  appropriateness  in  the  new 
form  ;  at  other  times,  there  is  not  the  remotest  connec- 
tion in  sense  between  the  word  and  its  supposed  etymon. 
Indeed,  the  result  of  the  etymologizing  instinct  may  be 
a  conglomerate  of  incongruous  words,  each  meaning  some- 
thing by  itself,  but  having  no  possible  relation  to  its 
fellows  or  to  the  idea  which  the  term  expresses  as  a  whole. 
Everywhere,  however,  the  principle  is  the  same.  The 
effort  is  to  make  the  word  sound  familiar,  and,  if  possible, 
to  give  a  meaning  to  that  which  was  meaningless  before. 
If  both  ends  are  achieved,  so  much  the  better.  If  but  one 
is  accomplished,  we  make  the  best  of  a  bad  matter. 

Craivfish  or  crayfish  is  not  from  fish.,  but  is  a  distorted 
form  of  an  older  English  crevis  from  O.  Fr.  crevice  (mod- 


FOLK-ETYMOLOGY  337 

ern  ecrevisse),  itself  derived  from  the  Old  High  German 
krebiz  (modern  Krebs),  which  is  cognate  with  the  English 
ci'ab. 

Pentliouse,  '  lean-to,'  has  nothing  to  do  with  either  j^ent 
or  house.  It  was  once  pronounced  pentus  (Ben  Jonson 
rhymes  it  with  the  Latin  juventus')  and  pentis,  and  comes 
from  the  French  appentis  (L.  appendicium). 

Rahe,  'a  debauchee,'  is  a  shortened  form  of  the  old 
word  7'aheU  'reckless,'  perhaps  from  O.N.  reikall,  'va- 
grant,' which  is  from  reika,  'to  rove,'  whence  the  old 
verb  rrt/re,  'wander.'  Popular  etymology  made  rakel  into 
rakehell  and  slang  shortened  it  to  rake.  To  rake  in  the 
sense  of  '  live  dissolutely '  is  from  the  noun. 

Belfrey  is  not  connected  with  bell.  It  is  O.  Fr.  bcr- 
fray.,  from  M.  H.  Ger.  ber^e^vrit  (modern  Bergfriede^, 
'place  of  safety,'  from  bergen,  'conceal,' and  wtMe  (modern 
Friede),  'peace,'  'protection.'  Its  original  sense  was  'a 
kind  of  tower.'     The  bells  came  later  and  are  unessential. 

Primrose  is  M.E.  and  O.  F.r.  primerole,  L.L.  primula, 
a  diminutive  of  primus,  'first.'  It  comes  in  the  prime  or 
spring  of  the  year.  Compare  'a  violet  in  the  youth  of 
primy  nature'  (Hamlet).  We  may  observe  that  the 
^ prime  of  life'  once  meant  the  'springtime  of  life,'  that 
is,  '  youth,'  and  not,  as  it  now  does,  the  fulness  of  manly 
strength. 

Clove  and  its  longer  form,  clove  gillyflower,  have  a  strange 
history.  The  starting-point  for  English  is  the  Old  French 
clou  de  girofle  or  girofre,  that  is  a  '  nail  of  girofle,'  applied 
to  the  dried  bud  of  the  clove-plant,  which  resembles  a  nail 
in  shape  and  is  used  as  a  spice.  Clou  is  the  Latin  clavus, 
'nail.'  Girofle  is  worn  down  from  the  Greek  Kapv6(j)vXXov 
(Jmru6p]mllo7i),  'nut-leaf,'  the  name  of  the  plant, —  from 
icdpvov  (kdi'uon},  'nut,'  and  (f)v\\ov  (^phillon),  'leaf,'  cog- 
z 


338  wonns  and  tueib  ways 

nate  with  the  Latin  folium,  whence  our  foliage  and  folio. 
By  popular  etymology,  girofre  became  gillyfloiver,  a 
name  still  applied  to  the  'pink.' 

Cassimere  is  the  French  casimir,  which,  like  our  cash- 
mere, is  simply  the  name  of  the  Indian  state  Kashmir, 
though  the  fabrics  in  question  are  different.  Kersey  is 
still  another  kind  of  woollen  cloth,  named  from  the  town 
of  Kersey  in  Suffolk  ;  but  folk-etymology  has  transformed 
cassimere  into  Kerseymere. 

A  sackbut  was  lengthened  or  shortened  in  playing,  like 
the  modern  trombone.  Hence  its  name  (Fr.  saquehute') 
from  sachier  or  saquier,  'to  pull,'  and  houter,  'to  push.' 
Curiously  enough  the  popular  etymology  would  here  be 
in  the  right  place.  For  to  lutt  (with  the  horns)  is  from 
houter,  and  sachier  was  perhaps  originally  'to  pull  out  of  a 
sack.'' 

Touchy  is  not  from  touch.  It  is  a  corruption  of  techy, 
'peevish,'  literally  'faulty,  vicious'  (cf.  'a  vicious  horse' 
for  one  of  bad  temper).  Teche  (now  obsolete)  is  O.  Fr. 
tache,  teche,  'spot,'  'blemish,'  and  so  'fault.'  The  change 
from  techy  to  touchy  is  instructive.  Touch  is  often  vul- 
garl}^  pronounced  tetch,  and  it  was  therefore  easy  to  infer 
that  techy  was  a  mispronunciation  of  touchy.  Folk-ety- 
mology is  often  a  corrector  of  errors  that  are  not  errone- 
ous. 

Curmudgeon  is  of  unknown  derivation,  but  cur  suggests 
popular  etymology.  The  word  recalls  one  of  the  most 
famous  of  etymological  blunders.  Dr.  Johnson  recorded 
it  as  from  the  French  coeur  mechant,  adding  '  unknown  cor- 
respondent' to  indicate  that  this  (truly  preposterous) 
conjecture  had  been  sent  to  him  by  some  person  to  him 
unknown.  Ash  copied  tlie  etymology  in  the  form  '-coeur, 
"unknown,"  mechant,  "a  correspondent."' 


FOLK-ETYMOLOGY  339 

Many  have  doubtless  wondered  why  a  tuberose  is  so 
called,  since  it  resembles  not  a  rose,  but  a  lily.  In  fact, 
the  name  is  merely  tuberosa,  '  tuberous,'  from  the  tuberous 
root  of  the  plant.  (^Tiiher  is  the  Latin  word  for  'knob'  or 
'swelling,'  adopted  as  a  botanical  term.)  Rosemary  was 
formerly  rosmarine,  from  L.  7'os  mari?ius,  '  sea-dew,'  '  sea- 
foam.'  The  Australians  have  corrupted  tarantula  into  tri- 
antelope,  which  they  employ  as  the  name  of  a  large  native 
spider. 

Warlock  is  A.S.  wcerloga^  literally  'one  who  proves  false 
to  his  pledge  (or  faith),'  from  «wr,  'pledge,'  and  loga, 
'liar.' 

Pui'lieu  has  been  assimilated  to  Fr.  lieu^  '  place ' 
(L.  locus").  It  is  O.  Fr.  puralee,  poralee,  L.L.  peram- 
hulatio,  so  called  because  of  the  '  perambulation '  or  '  sur- 
vey '  by  means  of  which  the  land  adjoining  a  royal  forest 
and  improperly  included  therein  was  disafforested  and 
restored  to  its  owners.  The  usual  modern  sense  is  '  out- 
skirts '  or  '  suburbs,'  commonly  with  a  suggestion  of  dis- 
repute, since  the  suburbs  of  a  town  were,  in  old  times,  the 
haunt  of  debauched  and  desperate  persons. 

Battledoor  can  hardly  be  from  battle  and  the  last  syllable 
is  certainly  not  the  noun  door.  Tlie  earliest  sense  is  'a  bat 
employed  by  washerwomen.'  The  derivation  is  extremely 
uncertain.  Spanish  batallador,  '  hero  of  man}^  battles,'  has 
been  suggested,  and  also  Provencal  batedor,  'little  bat.' 

Panther  has  been  subjected  to  folk-etymolog}^  more  than 
once.  The  Latin  panthera.,  which  gave  panthere  in  French 
(whence  our  word),  was  adapted  from  the  Greek  TrdvOrjp 
{pdntJier^.  In  Greek,  irav-  (pan-')  means  'all'  (as  in 
'- Pan-Presb}jterian  Council,'  Pavi-American.,  etc.),  and  O^p 
{the}''),  'wild  beast';  l)ut  there  is  little  doubt  that  the 
word  is  the  Sanskrit  pundrtka,  '  tiger,'  borrowed  by  the 


340  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

Greeks  and  transformed  so  as  to  make  sense  in  their 
language.  The  hunter's  name  for  the  American  panther 
is  painter.  Tliis  also  looks  like  popular  etymology,  biit 
perhaps  it  also  preserves  a  suggestion  of  the  older  English 
form  pantere. 

Pennyroyal  is  a  compound  of  translation  and  folk-ety- 
mology. The  Latin  is  puleium  (or  pulegiuni)  regnim, 
from  pulex^  'flea,'  the  plant  being  thougiit  to  be  efficacious 
as  a  flea-bane.  Tlie  Latin  name,  partly  adapted  and 
partly  translated,  gave  Eng.  puliall  royals  which  was  not 
like  anything  else  in  the  language,  and  was  promptly 
rationalized  to  pennyroyal. 

Artichoke  comes  directly  from  the  Italian  (articiocco., 
probably  from  Arabic)  ;  the  last  syllable  was  formerly 
pronounced  clioch,  but  has  been  respelled  and  repro- 
nounced  under  the  influence  of  the  verb  choke.  A  still 
better  example  of  popular  etymology  is  seen  in  Jerusalem 
artichoke.,  which  has  nothing  to  do  with  Jerusalem,  but  is 
corrupted  from  It.  girasole  ('  turning  with  the  sun '),  the 
name  of  a  plant  with  an  edible  root  resembling  the  arti- 
choke. 

Walnut  is  not  related  to  ivalh  but  to  Welsh.  The  first 
syllable  is  the  Anglo-Saxon  ivealh.,  '  foreign,'  which,  how- 
ever, is  not  a  native  word,  but  comes  from  the  name  of  the 
Celtic  tribe  of  Volcae,  whence  also  Welsh.  The  Teutonic 
race  regarded  the  Celts  as  '  foreigners  '  par  excellence.  In 
some  parts  of  America  the  name  walnut  is  given  to  the 
'  shagbark,'  a  kind  of  hickory  nut,  and  the  true  walnut  is 
known  as  the  '  English  walnut,'  ■ —  a  term  which  involves 
a  curious  etymological  contradiction. 

Mandrake  is  a  corruption  of  mamlragoras,  the  Greek 
(and  Latin)  name  of  the  plant.  The  Anglo-Saxon  man- 
dragora.,  a  direct  borrowing,  has  also  survived.     Drake  is 


FOLK-ETYMOLOGY  341 

an  Old  English  word  for  dragon  (A.S.  draca  from  L. 
draco').  There  is  no  connection  between  the  plant  and 
dragons,  but  folk-etymology  is  careless  about  trifles.  At 
all  events,  the  mandrake  was  a  mysterious  thing,  popu- 
larly supposed  to  be  endowed  with  life,  and  to  shriek  so 
terribly  when  it  was  torn  from  the  earth  '  that  living  mor- 
tals, hearing  it,  run  mad.'  Perhaps  the  mere  fact  that 
dragons  were  also  uncanny  was  enough  to  satisfy  the 
popular  mind.  Doubtless  the  first  syllable  was  identified 
with  our  7na/i  (with  which  it  has  no  connection).  The 
mandrake  has  a  forked  root,  which  often  startlingly  resem- 
bles the  human  figure.  In  this  word  one  may  see  the 
action  and  reaction  of  popular  superstition  and  popular 
etymology  in  a  remarkable  degree.  The  idea  that  the 
mandrake  was  alive  did  not  spring  from  the  accidental 
identity  between  the  first  syllable  of  its  name  and  the 
name  of  a  human  being ;  but  we  cannot  doubt  that  it  was 
strengthened  by  this  identity. 

Standard  is  O.  Fr.  estendart  (modern  etendard}^  'that 
which  is  spread  out'  (L.  extendo).  As  soon  as  the  word 
entered  our  language,  however,  it  was  associated  with 
stand,  so  that  the  form  standard  appears  in  the  twelfth 
century.^  The  supposed  connection  with  stand  has  not 
only  changed  its  form,  but  has  given  it  the  meaning  of 
'that  which  stands  firm,'  or  'is  fixed.'  Thus  we  have  the 
^standard  of  weights  and  measures,'  'the  staiidard  bushel,' 
'■tYiQ  standard  ol  morals,'  'not  up  to  the  standard.^  The 
notion  of  'extension'  or  'spreading'  has  quite  vanished. 

Purhlind  is  pure  blind,  i.e.  'absolutely  sightless.'  Its 
commoner  meaning  of  '  near-sighted '  seems  due,  in  part, 
to  the  erroneous   idea   that   the   first   syllable  is  a  cor- 

^  In  the  Peterborough  Chronicle  (cited  by  Skeat),  and  also  in  Henry 
of  Huntingdon  (v,  7)  :  '  fixo  Standard,  id  est  I'cgio  insigni.' 


342  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

ruption  of  j^ore.  The  form  pore-blind  actually  arose  under 
the  influence  of  this  idea. 

Abominable  (formerly  spelled  abliominable^  seems  to  owe 
its  special  implication  of  '  unnatural '  or  '  inhuman  '  con- 
duct to  the  mistaken  derivation  from  ab  hoonine,  '  away 
from  or  contrary  to  a  man.'  The  word  is  really  from  ah 
and  omen.  The  Latin  abominari  is  literally  '  to  deprecate 
anything  as  an  evil  omen,'  and  then  '  to  abhor.'  The  con- 
nection with  liomo,  '  man,'  is  a  very  old  error  and  antedates 
the  adoption  of  the  word  into  English. 

Pantry  and  buttery  are  associated  with  ijan  and  butter 
by  most  speakers.  In  fact,  pantry  comes  (through  the 
French)  from  L.  panis^  '  bread ';  and  buttery  was  originally 
the  place  where  the  butts  and  bottles  were  kept  (L.L.  botaria^ 
from  bota,  butta^  'cask  '). 

Reindeer  does  not  mean  a  deer  tliat  is  guided  by  reins. 
It  is  the  Old  Norse  name  of  the  animal,  hreinn,  with  a 
superfluous  English  deer  added.  The  German  name  for 
the  creature,  MenntJiier,  is  also  from  the  Norse,  but  is  con- 
nected in  the  popular  mind  with  renyien^  'to  run.'  The 
Scandinavian  word  was  no  doubt  borrowed  from  the  Lapps 
or  the  Finns. 

Tweezers  is  vaguely  associated  in  our  minds  with 
squeeze  and  with  pinchers  or  piyicers.  But  the  name  means 
simply  '  implements  carried  in  a  tweeze  or  case '  (Fr. 
etuis'). 

In  Jieadlony.,  flatlony,  and  sidelony  the  old  suffix  -liiiy 
(preserved  in  darkliny)  has  been  confused  with  long. 
Endlong  (in  Chaucer  endelong)  is  the  A.S.  andlang 
(cf.  Ger.  eyitlang)  in  which  and-  is  an  adverbial  prefix 
akin  to  Gr.  avri  (anti).  Our  noun  end  is  the  A.S.  ende, 
which  is  cognate  with  anti. 

In  foremost,  nether-most,  etc.,   an  old  superlative  suffix 


FOLK-ETYMOLOGY  343 

-mest  has  been  supplanted  by  the  adverb  most^  so  often 
used  with  adjectives  (as  in  most  beautiful).^ 

In  all  these  examples  of  folk-etymology  we  have  simply 
been  observing  strong  cases  of  the  operation  of  analogy, 
—  a  force  which  pervades  all  speech,  as  it  pervades  all 
thought,  and  which  has  caused  far-reaching  changes  in 
the  structure  of  our  language.  Confusion  of  grammatical 
constructions  and  inflectional  and  derivative  forms  is 
largely  due  to  this  force,  which  has  operated  with  peculiar 
energy  in  English. ^  Countless  instances  might  be  given, 
but  two  or  three  will  sufficiently  illustrate  the  point. 

Burial  is  for  an  older  buriels,  '  tomb,'  in  which  the  s 
was  not  the  plural  ending,  any  more  than  it  is  in  corps  and 
corpse  (vdiicli  are  the  same  word  pronounced  in  two 
ways).  The  form  looked  like  a  plural,  however,  and 
so  burial  was  formed  (like  the  vulgar  corp^.^^  The  spell- 
ing -al  is  after  the  analogy  of  manual^  casual,  and  other 
Latin  derivatives  in  -al(is). 

Syllable  is  O.  Fr.  sillabe  (L.  sijllaba)^  It  owes  its  I  to 
association  with  the  numerous  English  words  in  -able. 

In  Anglo-Saxon  there  were  several  declensions  of  nouns, 
differing  greatly  in  their  inflection.  Modern  English 
reduces  these  to  the  simple  scheme  with  which  we  are 
familiar,  partly  through  deca}^,  but  largely  through  the 
influence  of  analogy.  The  nouns  which  made  their 
genitive  singular  in  -es,  for  instance,  have  attracted  to 
themselves  those  that  had  other  genitive  endings.  The 
old  differences  between  the  singular  and  the  plural 
in  the  preterite  of  strong  verbs  have  disappeared ;  some- 
times   the    singular    form     has    carried    the     day,    and 

1  See  pp.  200-1.  2  Sec  pp.  181  ff.  ^  gge  p.  130. 

*  Gr.  ffuWajSri,  'something  taken  together,'  from  jvp-,  'together,'  and 
\afx[idvu,  \a[i€iv,  '  take.'    The  Modern  French  syllahc  is  a  learned  spelling. 


344  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

sometimes  the  plural.  The  confusions  of  analogy  are 
bafHing  to  the  philologist,  but  its  effect  has  been,  in 
the  main,  in  the  direction  of  simplicity,  —  and  increased 
simplicit}^  as  we  have  already  remarked,  is  an  advance  in 
the  usefulness  of  language.^ 

1  See  pp.  18;j-4. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

DOUBLETS    AND    HOMONYMS 

The  borrowing  habits  of  the  English  language  have 
filled  our  vocabulary  with  'doublets,'  as  they  are  called, 
—  that  is,  with  different  words  which  go  back,  by  diverse 
courses,  to  the  same  original  form.  For  example,  dainty 
and  digyiity  are  both  derived  from  the  Latin  dignitas,  but 
the  former  entered  our  language  through  the  French  (O. 
Fr.  deintie),  the  latter  was  adapted  directly  from  the 
Latin  (or  perhaps  from  the  French  dignite,  a  learned  de- 
rivative from  dignitas).  Thus  dainty  and  dignity  are 
doublets.  They  were  taken  into  English  at  difterent 
times,  have  distinct  senses,  and  are  not  felt  as  related 
words  except  by  the  etymologist. 

Again,  guest  is  a  native  word,  cognate  with  L.  hostis,  — 
that  is,  a  word  meaning  '  stranger '  in  the  Lido-Europcan 
parent-speech  has  survived  in  Latin  as  hostis,  in  English 
as  guest.  Neither  of  the  two  is  derived  from  the  other. 
Possessing  guest  by  right  of  inheritance,  we  have  bor- 
rowed hostile  (a  derivative  of  hostis')  from  the  Latin.  The 
native  guest  and  the  borrowed  hostile  are  therefore  doub- 
lets in  English,  —  both  going  back  to  an  Lido-European 
word,  but  by  different  paths. 

iShirt  and  skirt  are  also  doublets.  They  are  both  de- 
scended from  the  same  Germanic  word,  but  shirt  is  native 
English,  whereas  skirt  is  Scandinavian,  and  its  presence 
in  our  language  is  due   to   borrowing.      Sometimes  the 

345 


346  WOIiDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

doublets  are  both  of  native  origin.  Thus,  zvhit  and  wight 
are  both  descended  from  the  Anglo-Saxon  wiht,  though 
they  have  become  differentiated  in  the  period  that  inter- 
venes between  the  Anglo-Saxon  times  and  the  present 
day. 

The  development  of  doublets  is  one  cause  of  the  rich- 
ness of  our  vocabulary.  Sometimes  they  are  synonymous. 
More  often,  however,  they  have  received  special  meanings, 
which,  as  well  as  their  diversity  of  form,  tend  to  con- 
ceal their  original  identity.  Though  we  have  studied  a 
number  of  these  words  incidentally  in  previous  chapters, 
their  importance  will  justify  us  in  examining  several 
typical  specimens  by  themselves. 

Yerdigris  is  the  French  vert-de-gris,  '  green  of  gray.' 
The  latter,  however,  is  corrupted  from  L.L.  viride  aeris, 
'green  of  brass.'  Ambergris,  on  the  other  hand,  really 
means  'gray  amber'  (Fr.  amhre  gris)  ;  cf.  Milton's  gris- 
amher.  The  last  syllable  of  the  English  word  has  been 
sometimes  confused  with  grease  or  with  Greece^  whence 
the  obsolete  forms  amhergrease  and  amber -de-grece. 

Turtle  (^dove')  is  A.S.  turtle,  which  was,  however,  not  of 
native  origin,  but  a  very  early  borrowing  from  L.  turtur, 
a  reduplicated  form  (like  murmur}  that  seems  to  go  back 
to  first  principles,  being  an  imitation  of  the  bird's  note. 
Dove  was  added  to  distinguish  the  bird  after  the  name 
turtle  had  been  applied  to  the  tortoise.  The  latter  appli- 
cation is  comparatively  late.  English  sailors  of  the  six- 
teenth or  seventeentli  century,  becoming  acquainted  with 
the  sea  tortoise  under  its  Spanish  name  tortuga  (cf.  the 
islands  called  Tortugas)  or  its  Portuguese  name  tartaruga, 
corrupted  the  strange  term  into  one  with  which  they  were 
familiar,  though  there  was  no  resemblance  between  the 
tortoise  and  the  dove.     These  foreign  names  were  derived 


DOUBLETS  AND   HOMONYMS  347 

from  L.  tortus^  '  crooked '  (in  allusion  to  the  creature's 
queer  feet),  whence  came  O.  Fr.  toi'tis  and  our  tortoise. 

Booth  is  probably  from  the  Old  Norse  hath  (or  con- 
nected with  it),  which  is  from  5/2«,  'to  inhabit'  (A.S. 
buan,  Ger.  haueii).  Thus  booth  is  connected  with  bower 
(A.S.  bur'),  '  sleeping-})lace '  (preserved  in  poetry),  and 
with  boor^  'peasant.'  Boor  is  the  Dutch  boer^  'farmer'; 
recently  introduced  afresh  in  the  pure  Dutch  form  as 
a  proper  name  for  the  Dutch  in  South  Africa.  BusJc^ 
'to  prepare,'  is  from  the  same  Old  Norse  verb  (-sA;  being 
an  old  suffixed  reflexive  pronoun),  and  boun,  '  ready,'  is 
the  Anglo-Saxon  participle  Q/eynln,  '  prepared,'  from  the 
corresponding  Anglo-Saxon  verb  btlaii.  Bound  (on  a 
journey)  is  the  same  boun,  with  d  added  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  participle  of  bmd.  Boiver,  for  the  '  knave  '  at 
cards,  is  the  German  Bane?'.,  '  peasant,'  from  the  corre- 
sponding High  German  verb  bauen.  Thus,  in  tliis  group 
of  words,  our  language  has  laid  under  contribution  not 
only  its  native  stock  but  the  related  words  in  three  Teu- 
tonic tongues,  —  Old  Norse,  Dutch,  and  High  German. 

Lien  is  the  French  form  of  L.  ligamen^  'bond'  (liyare, 
'bind').  Ligament  is  a  direct  borrowing  from  the  same 
Latin  word,  influenced  by  the  numerous  French  and  Eng- 
lish words  in  -nt.  League.,  '  alliance,'  is  the  French  ligue 
(from  L.L.  liga~).,  also  from  ligare. 

Our  ordinary  utterance  is  from  the  verb  utter,  which 
comes  in  its  turn  from  out.  But  the  old  phrase  '  to  the 
utterance '  for  '  to  the  death,'  said  especially  of  duels  or 
other  combats,  is  the  French  a  outrance  (from  L.  ultra, 
'beyond').  The  change  from  outrance  to  utterance  was 
no  doubt  due,  in  part,  to  the  emphatic  sense  wliich  the 
adjective  utter  (really  a  comparative  of  out ;  cf.  outer)  had 
acquired,  —  as  in  'utter  misery,'   etc.     It  is  one  of  the 


348  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

countless  freaks  of  linguistic  fortune  that  outrance,  bor- 
rowed from  the  French,  and  utterance,  of  native  origin, 
should  resemble  each  other  so  closely  both  in  form  and. 
sense,  and  yet  should  have  no  etymological  relationship. 
The  former  goes  back  to  L.  ultra,  the  latter  to  Eng.  out, 
and  these  two  adverbs  are  in  no  way  akin. 

From  the  Latin  dominus,  '  lord,  master,'  we  have  bor- 
rowed almost  every  conceivable  formation.^  The  vocative, 
applied  as  a  title,  we  have  taken  in  bodily  as  doinine  (or 
dominie^,  for  a  schoolmaster  or  a  parson.  Dan,  as  in 
Spenser's  ^  Ban  Chaucer,'  is  an  Old  French  shortening 
of  doiyiinus,  and  corresponds  to  Sp.  don  and  Port.  dom. 
Don  is  jocosely  used  of  a  university  dignitary  in  England, 
but  never  (except  by  imitation)  in  America.  Dame  is 
domma, — also  French.  Dotnain  and  demesne  are  really 
one  and  the  same  French  word,  from  L.  dominicum, 
demesne  being  Anglo-French  (the  s  was  simply  a  bad  Law 
French  spelling). 

Do7ijon  or  dungeon  means  properly  the  '  master-tower ' 
or  '  keep '  of  a  castle,  —  from  L.  L.  dotmiio,  for  dominio  (the 
source  of  Fr.  dommion,  which  we  have  also  borrowed). 
Donjon-keep  is  a  tautological  compound.  The  shift  of 
meaning  in  dungeon  is  easy  to  understand. 

The  Latin  verb  dominari  (from  dominus^  became  dorni- 
ner  in  French,  and  this  was  taken  into  Dutch  as  domineren 
(with  infinitive  ending  -cw).  In  the  fifteenth  century, 
apparently,  the  Dutch  word  furnished  us  with  our  domi- 
neer. Dominate,  dominant,  and  donmiation  we  borrowed 
directly  from  the  Latin. 

Dominican  is  from  St.  Dominic,  who  founded  the  order. 
His  name  is  the  Latin  dominicus,  '  belonginc:  to  the  Lord.' 
Domino  is  a  modern   word  in   English.     It  is  found  in 

1  Cf.  pp.  323-4. 


DOUBLETS  AND   HOMONYMS  349 

French,  Spanish,  and  Italian  in  this  same  form,  and  was 
applied  originally  to  a  canon's  hood,  and  then  to  a  mask- 
hm  habit.  How  the  word  was  formed  is  matter  for 
conjecture.  The  suggestion  that  it  was  a  jocose  applica- 
tion of  a  fragment  of  the  Latin  'benedicamus  Domino'' 
is  not  improbable.  At  all  events,  it  must  have  lieen  in 
the  first  instance  a  bit  of  slang.  The  game  of  dominos  is 
said  to  be  named  from  the  garment,  because  the  pieces 
with  which  it  is  played  have  black  backs  —  again  a  bit 
of  humorous  slang,  which  has  established  itself  in  the 
language.  But  all  this  is  guesswork,  as  is  so  often  true 
in  the  case  of  slang  and  cant. 

Danger  means  originally  '  mastership,'  and  comes  from 
L.L.  dominarium  (through  the  French).  So  when  Portia 
says  to  Antonio,  '  You  stand  within  Ms  danger,  do  you 
not?'  she  means  not  'in  his  debt,'  as  some  have  thought, 
but  'in  his  power,'  'absolutely  under  his  control-.'  So,  too, 
dangerous  often  meant  '  offish,'  '  distant,'  '  defiant,'  which 
are  closely  connected  with  the  idea  of  'lordliness'  of  de- 
meanor. In  the  medifeval  love  allegory,  Danger,  one  of  the 
lover's  fiercest  opponents,  typifies  the  lady's  coldness. 

Cross,  in  all  senses,  as  noun,  verb,  adjective,  and  adverb 
(^across,  cf.  athwart),  comes  ultimately  from  the  Latin  crnx, 
crucis.  Its  introduction  into  our  language  depends  on 
the  crucifixion  of  Christ ;  hence,  there  is  attached  to  it 
the  whole  history  of  the  conversion  of  Western  Europe. 
But  that  is  not  all.  The  noun  cross  did  not  reach  Eng- 
land in  any  simple  way.  It  is  the  Norse  cros,  Ijorrowed 
from  the  Irish,  which  in  turn  borrowed  it  from  Latin. 
Its  proper  English  home  is  the  North,  where  Scandi- 
navian settlements  greatly  affected  our  language ;  but 
it  spread  into  other  dialects,  and  has  finally  become  the 
universal  form.     Our  texts  of  Chaucer  have  both  cros  and 


350  WORDS  AND   TIIEIB    WAYS 

crois,  the  latter  being  from  the  French  modification  of  L. 
crucem  (O.  Fr.  crois,  modern  croix).  Thus,  in  this  single 
word,  we  have  a  trace  of  the  early  Christianity  of  Ireland 
('  the  Isle  of  Saints ')  and  of  the  conversion  of  Northumbria 
by  Celtic  missionaries.  The  pure  Latin  form  appears  in 
cruci-al,  cruci-fix,  cruci-form,  and  other  borrowed  words 
of  a  learned  character,  and  we  have  taken  in  crux  intact 
for  'a  difficult  question  or  passage  in  an  author.'  We 
have  also  crusade  (from  Sp.  cruzada),  crusado,  'a  coin' 
(Port,  cruzado'),  and  cruise  (from  D.  kruisen,  a  verb  made 
from  the  noun  krms~),  all  of  which  go  back  to  the  Latin 
cr7ix. 

An  instructive  case  of  successive  borrowing  of  the  same 
word  is  that  of  reason,  ration,  and  ratio.  The  Latin  ratio, 
'reckoning,'  became  resoun  in  Old  French  (modern  rafsow), 
and  this  gives  us  reason.  Later,  ratio7i  was  borrowed  by 
French  directly  from  Latin,  and  by  English  from  French, 
in  the  special  military  sense;  and,  finally,  we  have  also 
the  Latin  word,  unchanged,  as  a  technical  term  in  mathe- 
matics. Compare  fjentile,  gentle,  and  genteel,  all  from  L. 
gentilis,  —  the  first  directly,  the  second  and  third,  by  suc- 
cessive borrowing,  through  the  French  gentil. 

The  Latin  ca^nera,  'vault,'  'arch,'  later  'chamber,'  be- 
came chambre  in  French.  We  have  borrowed  both  words, 
as  well  as  another  derivative  camber  (O.  Fr.  cambre}, 
used  as  a  technical  term  in  shipbuilding  and  architecture. 

Rose  was  adopted  from  L.  rosa  by  the  Anglo-Saxons. 
Rosa  is  doubtless  related  to  the  Greek  p68ov  {rhodon), 
which  we  have  in  rhodo-dendron,  a  Greek  word  meaninp" 
'  rose-tree,'  taken  into  English  bodily.  Green  vitriol  was 
called  by  the  alchemists  '  rose  of  copper,'  cupri  rosa,  which 
became  couperose  in  French,  and  this  latter  Avord  was 
gradually  corrupted  into  copperas  in  English.     The  sue- 


DOUBLETS  AND   HOMONYMS  351 

cessive  corruptions  point  to  the   fact  that  copperas  has 
been  much  used  in  the  arts.     Words  wear  out  like  coins. 

Tavern  and  tabernacle  have  very  different  associations ; 
yet  they  are  the  same  word  at  bottom.  L.  taberna,  'a 
booth,' '  shop,'  '  tavern,'  became  taverne  in  French.  English 
borrowed  this  word  from  French  :  and  also,  directly  from 
Latin,  the  diminutive  tabernaculum,  'tent.'  The  biblical 
use  of  tabernacle  has  given  sacred  associations  to  the  term, 
so  that  it  is  often  used  in  special  senses,  —  e.g.  for  a  cano- 
pied seat  in  the  choir  of  a  church. 

Bench.,  bank  (in  all  senses),  banco,  and  bunco.,  are,  to  all 
intents  and  purposes,  the  same  Germanic  word.  Bench  is 
the  native  Englisli  form  (A.S.  bene).  French  borrowed 
the  word  from  Old  German  in  the  form  banc,  and  this 
gives  us  'a  bank  of  oars'  (from  the  rowers'  'bench')  and 
the  legal  phrase  in  bayik  (of  the  terms  of  a  court).  The 
Scandinavians  had  the  Germanic  word  in  a  slightly  differ- 
ent form,  and  from  them  we  borrowed,  at  an  early  date, 
bank,  in  'sandbank  '  or  the  'bank  of  a  river.'  The  Italians 
had  also  adopted  the  Germanic  word,  and  used  banca  or 
banco  for  the  bench  or  table  of  a  money-changer.  From 
banca  the  French  made  banque,  which  gives  us  bank  in 
the  financial  sense ;  while  we  have  also  taken  in  the  other 
Italian  form  banco  intact.  The  Spaniards  had  correspond- 
ing forms  banca  for  '  (money)  bank '  and  banco  for  a  cer- 
tain game  at  cards.  The  latter  term  has  recently  passed 
into  American  English,  giving  us  bunco  (or  bmiko')  for  a 
swindling  card-game  or  mock-lottery,  —  whence  the  slang 
verb  to  bunco,  for  'to  cheat,'  'chouse,'  or  'defraud'  in 
almost  any  manner :  as,  — '  He  was  buncoed  out  of  his 
seat  in  the  House  of  Representatives.'  It  would  be 
hard  to  find  a  better  example  of  the  omnium-gatherum 
character  of  the  English  vocabulary.      We  liad  this  word 


352  wouds  and  their  ways 

bench  by  right  of  inheritance,  yet  we  have,  at  different 
times,  taken  in  the  same  word,  in  different  senses,  four 
times,  —  once  from  Old  Norse,  once  from  Spanish,  and 
twice  from  French.  Besides  this,  we  have  mountebank 
and  bankrupt.  The  former  is  the  Italian  montimbanco, 
'a  qnack'  (who  gets  upon  a  bench  to  proclaim  his  nos- 
trums). Bankrupt  has  been  twice  borrowed,  —  from 
It.  banca  rotta.,  '  broken  bench,'  and  from  Fr.  banque- 
route  (which  is  also  from  Italian).  Hence  the  older  Eng- 
lish banke  rota  and  bankrout.  Rotta  is  the  Italian  form 
of  the  Latin  participle  rupta.,  and  hence,  in  the  '  learned 
times '  of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  English  word  was 
brouglit  nearer  to  the  classic  languages,  and  took  the 
form  bankrupt^  which  we  now  have.  Observe  that  all 
the  financial  senses  of  ba7ik  go  back  to  Italy,  the  cradle  of 
modern  banking. 

Arch  and  arc  are  both  from  L.  arcus,  '  bow%'  —  the 
latter  directly,  the  former  through  the  French. 

Hyejia  and  soiv  are  really  the  same  word.  The  Anglo- 
Saxon  had  s?7,  'pig,'  and  sugu.,  'sow,'  and  these  are  cognate 
with  L.  siis^  Gr.  (Tv<i  (s?ts)  or  5?  {hits).  From  v<i  comes  hy- 
aena (which  is  merely  the  Latin  spelling  of  Gr.  vaiva, 
huaina.,  '  sow ') .  Swine  is  A.  S.  su  with  a  diminutive  ending, 
though  its  diminutive  force  vanished  utterly  long  ago. 

Star  is  a  general  Indo-European  word.  The  English 
form  (A.S.  steorra)  is  cognate  with  L.  sfella  (short  for 
sferula)  and  Gr.  acny'ip  {aster'),  d<npov  (dstron).  Besides 
having  the  native  word,  we  have  borrowed  freely  from 
Greek  and  Latin:  stellar,  stellate,  stelUfy,  constellation; 
aster,  'the  star-flower,'  disaster,  'a  bad  star';  astrology, 
astronomy,  asteroid. 

The  Romans  had  a  word  cancer,  'a  crab,'  perhaps  old 
enough  to  be  cognate  with  the  Greek  KapKivo<i  (Jcarkinos), 


DOUBLETS  AND   HOMONYMS  353 

but,  from  its  appearance,  more  likely  to  be  corrupted  from 
it.  Cancer  has  continued  to  be  the  name  of  a  constellation 
for  more  than  two  thousand  years.  It  was  also  applied 
in  Greek  to  a  disease,  from  a  fancied  resemblance  of  the 
swollen  veins  to  a  crab's  claws,  and,  in  its  Latin  form,  has 
been  borrowed  by  later  civilizations,  giving  rise  to  the 
two  English  words  cancel'  and  ca7iker,  now  very  different 
in  sense.  Modern  science  has  distinguished  various  forms 
of  cancer,  and,  feeling  the  need  of  exacter  terms  than  those 
which  satisfied  the  old  physicians,  has  accordingly  bor- 
rowed the  Greek  name  carcinoma  in  a  special  sense. 
Cancer  had  a  Latin  diminutive  canceUi,  '  a  grating '  (once 
more  from  the  resemblance  to  a  crab's  claws),  especially 
a  structure  separating  a  part  of  a  large  hall  from  the  rest 
when  used  as  a  court  or  audience-room.  Hence,  through 
the  French,  we  get  the  chancel  of  a  church.  A  derivative 
of  it  in  Latin  gives  chancellor,  and  later  developments 
give  chancery.  Directly  from  the  Latin  comes  the  verb 
cancel,  literally  to  '  cross  out '  writing  by  means  of  lines 
like  the  bars  of  a  grating.  In  chancery  came  to  have 
a  sinister  sense  from  the  delays  and  expenses  incident  to 
suits  in  the  chancellor's  court.  It  was  picked  up  by  pugi- 
listic slang,  and  has  reentered  the  colloquial  vocabulary 
with  the  associations  of  the  prize-ring. 

Legal,  loyal,  and  leal  are  all  from  L.  legalis,  'according 
to  law.'  Legal  is  directly  from  the  Latin.  Loyal  and 
leal  are  from  O.  Fr.  loial  (modern  loyal)  and  leial  respec- 
tively, the  former  being  Central  and  the  latter  Norman 
French.  The  general  currency  of  'Land  of  the  Leal'(2.e. 
of  those  who  have  '  kept  the  faith ')  for  '  heaven  '  is  due 
to  the  Scottish  poem  of  that  name. 

Sire  and  sir  are  variant  forms  of  Fr.  sire  which  is 
from  L.  senior,  'older.'  For  their  use  as  terms  of  respect, 
2-v 


354  WOBDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

see  p.  325.  Sirrah  seems  to  be  the  dissyllabic  result  of 
an  angry  or  scornful  pronunciation  of  sir-r-r,  with  a 
prolonged  r  (cf.  Irish  sor-r-rf).  The  derivation  from 
O.N.  sira,  'sir'  (later  used  scornfully),  itself  a  borrowing 
from  French,  must  be  rejected.  'No,  sir-ree!'  common 
a  few  years  ago  in  jocose  or  vulgar  speech,  is  doubtless 
a  variant  of  sirrah,  or  at  all  events  a  parallel  phenomenon. 

Clench  and  clinch  are  dialectic  variations  of  the  same 
word,  and  were  formerly  interchangeable.  In  present 
usage,  how3ver,  there  is  a  strong  inclination  to  distinguish 
them.     We  '■clench  our  fists,'  but  '•clinch  a  bargain.' 

Chaw  is  a  dialectic  variety  of  chew,  and  does  not  appear 
in  literature  before  the  sixteenth  century.  For  a  time  it 
was  interchangeable  with  chew  in  dignified  speech.  Wit- 
ness Spenser's  Phaon,  who  describes  himself  as  'chawing 
({.e.  ruminating)  vengeaunce.'^  At  this  moment,  chaiv  is 
contemptuously  used  for  violent  or  vulgar  chewing  (cf. 
chatvbacon'),  and  is  therefore  regarded  as  itself  a  word  of 
dubious  character. 2  The  distinction  between  chew  and 
chaw,  however,  is  very  much  like  that  between  essen  and 
fressen  in  German,  which,  however,  has  established  itself 
in  the  literary  language.  Chetv  itself  is  sometimes  euphe- 
mistically avoided  in  favor  of  masticate,  —  a  curious  Latin 
word  which  seems  to  come  from  Gr.  fiaarixv  (jnastlche'), 
'  mastic,'  a  resinous  gum  used  for  chewing.  No  essential 
dignity  attaches  to  masticate  ;  its  elegance  consists  in  its 
being  a  Latin  word  used  in  technical  language.  In  the 
figurative  sense,  again,  chew  is  out  of  favor.  A  modern 
Brutus  would  not  advise  Cassins  (as  in  Shakspere)  to 
'chew  upon  this.'    He  would  say  ruminate,  which  is  sono- 

1  Faerie  Queene,  ii,  4,  29. 

2  It  is  common,  however,  in  various  dialects,  as  the  ordinary  verb  for 
•  masticate.' 


DOUBLETS  AND  HOMONYMS  355 

rous  enough,  but  is  after  all  only  the  Latin  for  '  chew  the 
cud'  (ivoro.  rumen^  'throat,'  'gullet'). 

The  two  pronunciations  of  gallant  (as  gallant  and  as 
gallant')  are  really  doublets  of  a  peculiar  kind.  The  Old 
French  adjective  galant  passed  into  English  in  the  four- 
teenth century,  and  is  now  accented  on  the  first  syllable. 
Some  three  hundred  years  later,  the  same  word  was  bor- 
rowed again  in  the  sense  of  '  polite  or  attentive  to  ladies,' 
and  this  gives  us  galldnt.  The  French  adjective  is  a 
present  participle  of  the  old  verb  galer^  '  to  make  merry,' 
which  is  of  Germanic  origin.  Tlie  Italian  gala  (which  we 
have  also  borrowed)  is  from  the  same  source.  It  corre- 
sponds to  O.  Fr.  gale^  'merriment,'  with  which  it  is  almost 
impossible  not  to  connect  the  phrases  '  a  gale  of  laughter,' 
'a  gale  of  merriment,'  'to  be  in  a  perfect  gale'  (i.e.  'a  state 
of  great  hilarity').  This  use  of  gale  is  old  in  New  Eng- 
land, and  is  not  confined  to  this  side  of  the  Atlantic. 

Our  language  often  shows  considerable  diversity  of 
usage  in  the  pronunciation  of  the  same  word,  especially 
with  regard  to  accent.  This  is  likely  to  be  the  case  with 
borrowed  words,  which,  as  they  become  established  in  our 
vocabulary,  conform  more  and  more  closely  to  our  habits 
of  speech.  Thus,  Tom  Moore  knew  only  halc6ny  (from 
It.  halcdne').,  and  there  are  still  persons  who  would  say  'you 
was'  as  soon  as  hdlcony,  though  this  has  come  to  be  the 
usual  pronunciation.  Occasionally,  the  language  has  taken 
advantage  of  such  diversity  to  make  two  words  out  of  one 
by  attaching  different  meanings  to  the  different  pronunci- 
ations, as  in  the  following  examples. 

In  the  Elizabethan  time,  mettle  was  simj)ly  a  phonetic 
spelling  of  metal.  There  was  no  difference  in  sense,  — 
both  forms  being  freely  used  both  in  the  literal  sense  and 
in  the  figurative  meaning  of  '  one's  composition,'  '  the  stuff 


35G  WOEDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

out  of  wliich  one  is  made,'  'one's  nature."  In  Modern 
English,  wo  no  longer  even  associate  mettle  with  metal,  — 
the  two  forms  have  become  perfectly  distinct  words  with 
widely  different  meanings. 

Conjure  and  c6njure  are  not  distinguished  in  Shak- 
spere.  Either  accentuation  is  used  for  either  sense.  To-day 
they  are  different  words :  to  conjure  is  '  to  use  charms  or 
incantations ' ;  to  conjure  is  '  to  call  upon  one  solemnly,' 
as  it  were  with  an  oath. 

Many  dissyllabic  adjectives  like  profound.,  supreme,  com- 
plete, and  the  like,  which  are  derived  from  Latin  adjec- 
tives accented  on  the  penult  (^jjro/"*^?!*:^?!.?,  supremus, 
computus)  had  in  the  Elizabethan  age  a  variable  accent, 
profound  or  profoihid,  etc.,  according  to  their  position  with 
respect  to  other  stresses  in  the  verse  or  sentence.  As  time 
went  on,  the  accent  became  settled.  In  some  instances, 
however,  both  pronunciations  were  retained,  each  with  a 
special  set  of  meanings,  and  thus  the  single  term  split  into 
two  distinct  words.  Human  carries  the  literal  sense  of  the 
Latin  humanus ;  humdne,  the  other  pronunciation,  is 
specialized  to  the  ethical  meaning.  Antique  is  literal  ; 
dntio,  simply  another  accentuation  of  the  same  word,  means 
first  'fantastic'  (as  old  things  seem  to  the  moderns),  and 
then  'a  fantastic  caper.' 

Neg7'o  and  nigger  are  interesting  examples  of  the  ten- 
dency to  utilize  variant  pronunciations  for  the  increase  of 
our  vocabulary.  Negro,  '  black,'  was  borrowed  from  the 
Spanish  (or  Portuguese)  as  a  descriptive  term  for  the  black 
race  proper.  It  is  pronounced  negr  by  many,  in  accordance 
with  the  tendency  to  develop  a  vowel  r  from  r  +  vowel 
(cf.  cJiamhre  from  camera^.  Then  negr  becomes  nigger, 
much  as  cliamhre  becomes  chamber.  Negro  is  retained  as 
the  true  racial  designation,  while  nigger  is  utilized  as  a 


DOUBLETS  AND   HOMONYM  IS  357 

term  of  contempt  or  abuse  not  only  for  an  'Ethiopian' 
but,  especially  in  England,  for  a  member  of  any  dark- 
skinned  race.^ 

Sometimes  the  tendency  to  differentiate  asserts  itself  in 
different  inflectional  forms  of  the  same  word.  So  espe- 
cially in  the  so-called  irregular  verbs.  We  say  '  the  pirate 
was  hanged^''  but  '  the  crane  httng  in  the  fireplace';  'he  Itove 
the  lead,'  but  '  heaved  a  sigh.' 

It  is  a  familiar  fact  that  our  vocabulary  includes  many 
pairs  of  Avords  which,  thougli  entirely  distinct  in  origin  and 
meaning,  are  pronounced  alike,  and  sometimes  spelled  in 
the  same  way.  Such  words  are  called  'homonyms.'  Their 
presence  in  our  language  is  often  wondered  at,  but  comes 
about  in  a  perfectly  natural  way.  It  may  be  ascribed,  in 
the  main,  to  mere  coincidence.  Two  different  words  may 
happen  to  sound  alike,  just  as  two  persons  who  are  not 
related  may  show  a  striking  'family  resemblance.'  The 
chances  of  coincidence  are  greatly  increased  by  our  habit 
of  borrowing  from  every  possible  quarter.  Sometimes, 
however,  both  homonyms  are  derived  from  tlie  same 
language  or  belong  to  the  native  stock.  Pure  accident  is 
not  the  sole  cause  of  the  existence  of  homonyms.  Folk- 
etymology  has  often  assisted  in  bringing  into  accord  two 
words  which  have  nothing  in  common  except  a  slight 
reseml)lance  of  sound. 

The  study  of  homonyms  is  not  altogether  a  matter  of 
linguistic  sport.  It  illustrates  what  we  have  so  often 
remarked, — the  varied  history  of  our  language  and  the 
complex  civilization  wliich  it  mirrors  so  accurately.     A  few 

^  The  derivation  of  nigger  from  Fr.  nhjrr  is  far  less  likely.  The 
scholars  who  ui)lioUl  it  are  unacquainted  with  the  form  npfjr,  which  is 
often  heard  in  the  South.  Ncjjer  and  ni(jer  are  found  (as  serious  designa- 
tions) in  the  sixteenth  century. 


358  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

examples  of  these  verbal  curiosities  will  therefore  be  of 
interest. 

Weed,  'a  wild  plant,'  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  weed  in 
a  man's  hat  or  a  widow's  weeds.  The  latter  word  is  the 
A.S.  waide,  'garment,'  which  we  have  specialized  to 
'mourning  garments,'  while  weed,  'plant,'  is  A.S.  iveod, 
from  quite  a  different  root. 

Yearn,  'to  desire,'  is  A.S.  geornian,  akin  to  Ger.  gerne, 
'gladly.'      Yearn,  'to  mourn,'  as  in  Pistol's 

Falstaff  he  is  dead, 
And  we  must  yaarn  therefore,  — 

is  corrupted  (under  the  influence  of  the  former  word)  from 
an  older  erm,  from  A.S.  yrman,  which  is  akin  to  Ger.  arm 
(A.S.  earm^,  'poor,'  'miserable.' 

Vice,  'fault,'  is  Fr.  vice  (L.  vitiuni);  vice,  'a  clutching 
instrument,'  is  Fr.  vis,  'screw'  (L.  vitis,  'vine').  Vice- in 
vice-president  is  the  Latin  ablative  vice,  '  in  the  place  of ' 
(from  vicis,  'turn'),  and  so  is  different  from  either. 

The  Tartars  are  more  properly  Tatars,  but  their  name 
was  connected  by  the  Europeans  with  Tartarus,  because 
of  their  supposed  fiendish  nature.  This  points  to  the 
terror  roused  by  the  Tartar  conquests  of  the  thirteenth 
century.  1  Cream  of  tartar  comes  from  the  tartar  that 
forms  on  the  inside  of  wine-casks.  It  is  Fr.  tartre,  and  is 
thought  to  be  of  Arabic  origin.  At  all  events,  it  has  no 
connection  either  with  Tartarus  or  with  Tartary.  For 
argol,  another  name  for  this  tartar,  no  plausible  etymology 
has  been  suggested. 

Temple,  a  part  of  the  head,  might  easily  be  regarded  as 
a  figurative  use  of  temple,  a  place  of  worship.     But,  in 

1  See  Wiener,  The  Tartar  Myth,  iu  the  Moderu  Language  Quarterly, 
III,  25. 


DOUBLETS  AND  HOMONYMS  359 

fact,  the  former  is  from  L.  temjms,  which  means  both 
'time' (properly  'the  fit  time  '),  ami  'temple'  (perhaps,  'the 
fitting  place'  i  e.  for  a  fatal  blow).  From  tempus,  the 
French  took  temps,  '  time '  (our  tense  in  grammar),  while 
from  the  plural  tempora  they  formed  tempe,  '  temple  of 
the  head.'  A  by- form  in  Old  French,  temple,  determined 
the  English  word.  The  term  for  a  place  of  worship  is 
from  L.  templum,  which  was  borrowed  as  tempel  in  the 
Anglo-Saxon  period.  Templum  is  from  a  root  meaning 
'to  cut,'  and  signified  originally  the  'sacred  precinct' 
rather  than  the  building. 

A  sorrel  horse  gets  his  name  from  Fr.  saure  (older  sore}, 
probably  a  Germanic  word  (akin  to  sere)  indicating  the 
color  of  withered  leaves.  The  plant  sorrel  is  Fr.  surelle, 
from  sur,  '  sour,'  also  of  Germanic  origin  and  identical 
with  our  English  sour. 

When  we  speak  of  a  hog  as  rooting,  we  doubtless  think 
we  are  using  a  verb  from  the  noun  root,  as  if  the  animal 
were  seeking  for  roots  to  eat.  In  fact,  however,  though 
the  words  may  be  remotely  connected,  the  verb  is  properly 
to  wroot,  being  the  A.S.  ivrotan,  and  is  connected  with 
ivrot,  'snout';  whereas  the  noun  root  is  the  Scandinavian 
rot,  akin  to  ivort,  'a  plant'  (as  in  t]ioroughivort~) . 

Angle,  'fishhook,'  is  a  native  word  (A.S.  angel')  ;  but 
angle,  'corner,'  is  from  L.  angulus  (through  Fr.  angle). 
Yet  the  two  words  are  near  akin,  since  both  the  Latin 
and  the  Anglo-Saxon  word  come  (independently)  from 
the  same  Indo-European  root  ank,  'to  bend.' 

Ancient  (earlier  aimeien),  in  its  ordinary  sense,  is  Fr. 
aneien  from  L.L.  antiamis  (from  ante).  But  lago  was 
Othello's  ancient,  and  Falstaff's  soldiers  were  'more  dis- 
Iionorable-raG^jTfed  than  an  old  faced  ancient.''  Here  we 
have  a  corruption  of  ensign  (Fr.  enseigne,  from  L,  insignia). 


360  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

Tattoo, '  drum-beat,'  was  formerly  tapto.  It  is  the  Dutch 
tap-toe,  '  tap  to  !  '  i.e.  '  drinking-house  shut !  '  ^  The  tattoo 
is  the  signal  for  the  soldiers  to  go  to  their  quarters.  The 
tattooing  of  the  flesh  is  another  matter.  This  tattoo  is  a 
South  Sea  Island  word,  imported,  with  the  custom,  by 
sailors.  The  chances  that  a  Dutch  military  term  and  a 
Polynesian  custom  should  independently  give  to  the 
English  vocabulary  two  words  identical  in  form  would 
seem  unlikely  enough,  were  not  language  full  of  such 
coincidences.     A  similar  instance  is  squash  (sec  p.  189J. 

Haggard,  '  a  wild  hawk,'  is  French  from  Old  German, 
and  means  literally  'of  the  Jiedge.^  The  ending  is  like 
that  in  drunkard,  coward,  etc.  (see  p.  141).  Hagged, 
'  haunted  by  a  hag  or  witch,'  was  confused  in  form  with 
this  word,  and  hence  we  have  our  common  adjective  hag- 
gard. Hag  itself  seems  to  be  related  to  hedge,  and  thus 
to  mean  originally  'a  wild  creature.' 

Perminlde,  the  plant,  and  periwinJde,  the  shell,  have  ex- 
changed influences.  The  plant  is  L.  2)ervinca,  adopted  by 
the  Anglo-Saxons  as  pervmce.  This  provides  the  per-  of 
both  words.  The  shell  is  A.S.  pine-ioincla,  from  h.  piua 
(^pinnd),  'mussel,'  and  winch,  'winkle'  (a  shellfish). 
This  has  furnished  the  second  jxirt  of  both  names. 

1  Compare  our  '  Shut  the  door  tu  '  and  tlie  German  su  in  Thiire  su! 


CHAPTER  XXV 

WORDS   FllOM    THE   NAMES    OF   ANIMALS 

Cue  language  has  a  great  quantity  of  words  and  phrases 
in  which  the  names  of  animals  are  figuratively  used  to  de- 
scribe human  qualities.  Several  linguistic  processes  which 
we  have  been  studying  are  well  illustrated  in  this  category, 
and  there  are,  besides,  interesting  historical  considerations 
attaching  to  the  group. 

In  the  first  place,  expressions  of  this  type  are  of  abso- 
lutely popular  origin.  They  point  to  a  time  when 
everybody  was  familiar  with  out-of-door  life,  and  when 
comparisons  with  animals  lay,  therefore,  close  at  hand. 
The  type  once  formed,  literature  would  inevitably  extend 
it  by  including  the  names  of  exotic  or  even  fabulous 
animals ;i  but,  in  their  beginning,  the  phenomena  in  ques- 
tion are  intensely  popular.  More  than  this,  they  go  back 
to  a  very  primitive  psychology.  We  now  make  a  sharp 
distinction  between  man  and  the  'lower  animals,'  as  we  call 
them.  To  primitive  man,  however,  it  did  not  occur  to 
classify  the  world  in  this  fashion.  He  never  doubted  that 
beasts  could  talk  and  that  it  was  possible  for  us  to  learn 
their  language.  He  believed  that  men  were  frequently 
transformed  into  animals  and  animals  into  men.  Indeed, 
it  is  still  a  tradition  among  many  tribes  that  their  ancestors 
had  the  forms  of  beasts  or  birds.  Furtlier,  instead  of 
denying  reason  to  the  lower  animals,  primitive  man  often 

1  See  p.  117. 
361 


362  WOllDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

ascribed  to  tliein  intellectual  faculties  superior  to  his  own. 
All  these  beliefs  survive  among  savages,  and  may  be  ob- 
served as  well  in  young  children.  Nursery  tales  and. 
classic  mythology  alike  embody  them,  and  what  we  call 
'  fables '  spring  from  the  same  root.  Long  after  such 
naive  conceptions  had  ceased  to  be  seriously  entertained 
by  civilized  races,  they  were  still  utilized  in  literature  and 
art ;  and  hence  they  form,  in  one  way  or  another,  a  com- 
ponent part  of  every  grade  of  language,  from  slang  to  the 
most  elevated  poetry. 

English  has  a  considerable  stock  of  po]Dular  compari- 
sons which  illustrate  these  points  in  a  very  simple  way. 
A  man  may  be  '  blind  as  a  bat '  (physically,  morally,  or 
intellectually),  'sly  as  a  fox,'  'cross  as  a  bear,'i  'bold  as 
a  lion,'  '  stubborn  as  a  mule,'  '  gay  as  a  lark,'  '  dumb  as  an 
oyster,'  'busy  as  a  bee,'  'hungry  as  a  wolf,'  'gray  as  a 
badger.'  He  may  'work  like  a  beaver,'  'puff  like  a 
grampus,'  or  '  drink  like  a  fish.'  Nowadays  a  talkative 
person  '  chatters  like  a  magpie.'  In  the  fourteenth 
century  he  'jangled  as  a  jay.'  'Gentle  (i.e.  well-bred) 
as  a  falcon'  is  a  pretty  comparison  of  this  kind,  often 
applied  to  ladies  in  the  clays  when  hawking  was  a  fashion- 
able sport. 

Still  more  primitive  is  the  practice  of  designating  a 
person,  metaphorically,  by  the  name  of  some  animal  whose 
qualities  he  is  thought  to  exemplify.  Thus  a  crafty 
fellow  may  be  called  a  fox;  a  glutton,  a  |>/^;  a  surly 
person,  a  hear.  A  shrewish  woman  is  a  vixen.,  that  is,  a 
'  she-fox.' 2     Hamlet  speaks  of  Osric,  the  fantastic,  feather- 

1  Slang,  which  delights  in  elaborating  simpler  expressions,  carried  out 
the  figure  :  'as  cross  as  a  bear  with  a  sore  head.'  Hence,  apparently, 
the  American  word  sorehead,  for  'a  disappointed  politician.' 

2  See  p.  204. 


WORDS  FROM   THE  NAMES   OF  ANIMALS  363 

brained  courtier,  as  a  waterfli/.  Caterpillar  (or  '  cater- 
pillar of  the  commonwealtli ' )  was  an  expressive  old  term 
for  one  who  devours  what  other  men  earn,  —  that  is,  for 
what  we  sometimes  call,  in  the  language  of  political 
economy,  an  'unproductive  consumer.'  Other  similar 
terms  which  need  no  explanation  are  sheep^  monkey^  duck, 
goose,  viper,  cat  (for  a  spiteful  woman),  jjarro^,  7nole,  skunk, 
snake,  serpent,  wolf,  drone.  Few  of  us  have  ever  seen  the 
little  grub  which  bores  through  the  leaves  and  bindings 
of  books,  yet  hookworm,  in  a  figurative  sense,  is  familiar  to 
everybody  and  has  literary  associations.  Dog,  hound,  cur, 
tyke,  and  puppy,  are  terms  of  contempt,  and  worm  or  insect 
is  sometimes  used  in  the  same  way.  Such  surnames  or 
sobriquets  as  Coeur  de  Lion  and  'the  Wild  Boar  of 
Ardennes '  may  also  be  mentioned,  and  the  hulls,  hears, 
and  lambs  of  the  stock  exchange  must  not  be  forgotten. 
The  names  of  various  stupid  birds  have  been  used  at 
different  periods  for  '  fool '  or  '  dupe  ' :  — gull  (properly  a 
'young  bird'  of  any  lun^X),'^ pigeon,  daiv,  dodo,  dotterel,  and 
rook.  Rook  affords  a  curious  instance  of  transference. 
From  the  noun  rook,  'a  dupe,'  comes  the  verb  rook,  'to 
cheat,'  and  from  this  verb  the  noun  rook  was  rederived  in 
the  sense  of  'swindler.'  Thus  we  have  the  same  word 
in  two  opposite  senses:  the  blackleg  and  his  victim.  'To 
pluck  a  pigeon '  (or  simply  to  pluck')  is  an  obvious  figure. 
A  stool  pigeon,  used  figuratively  for  a  '  confederate  in  some 
swindling  operation,'  is  a  '  decoy  pigeon,'  so  called  from 
its  being  tied  to  a  stool.  Dotterel  itself  means  '  silly 
thing'  (from  dote);  and  dodo  is  the  Portuguese  doudo, 
'simpleton.'  These  three  words  have  turned  a  complete 
somersault,  returning,  in  their  figurative  application  to 
stupid  mortals,  to  the  posture  which  they  held  before  they 

1  See  p.  3G5. 


364  nouns  and  theib  ways 

were  applied  to  the  birds.  If  the  I'ortuguese  doudo  is 
really  a  corruption  of  the  provincial  English  dold  (our 
doW)^  the  whirligig  of  etymology  is  dizzy  enough. 

Loon  for  'fool'  is  not  the  name  of  the  bird.  It  is  the 
Scotch  loun,  and  is  apparently  identical  with  English  lown^ 
'  a  worthless  fellow,'  which  is  perhaps  akin  to  lame.  Any 
physical  defect  may  give  rise  to  an  abusive  epithet:  as, — 
absurd  ('very  deaf,'  L.  surdus),  Mind,  purblind,  '•scald 
knave.' 1  Yet  the  popular  feeling  associates  loo?i  with 
loony,  —  which  is  lunatic,  '  moonstruck,'  from  the  supposed 
effect  of  the  moon  on  insanity.  Woodcock  was  once  a 
s^uionym  for  '  silly  creature,'  for  this  bird  was  thought  to 
liave  no  brains  and  to  walk  into  the  snare  with  its  eyes 
open.  Indeed,  old  books  on  fowling  assert  that  it  catches 
itself,  as  it  were,  by  examining  the  snare  in  idiotic  curi- 
osity. Compare  the  words  of  Laertes,  who  has  been 
wounded  with  the  poisoned  rapier  which  he  prepared  for 
Hamlet:  — 

Why,  as  a  woodcock  to  mine  own  springe,  Osric, 
I  am  justly  kill'd  with  my  own  treachery. 

Bull,  for  'an  absurd  blunder,'  particularly  in  speech, 
might  well  come  from  the  bull's  habit  of  charging  with 
his  head  down  so  that  he  appears  not  to  see  where  he  is 
going  :  but  the  etymology  is  not  known,  and  the  word 
may  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  animal.^ 

Horse  is  used  as  a  kind  of  prefix  to  indicate  size  or 
coarseness :  as  in  horse-radish,  horse-purslain,  horse-mussel, 
horse  sense.  Compare  sow-thistle,  dog-7'ose,  and  the  Creek 
use  of  /SoO?  Qbous),  as  in  ^ov-avKov  (bod-sukoii),  '  a  large 

'  '  He  that  repreveth  his  neighebor,  outher  he  repreveth  him  by  some 
harm  of  peyne  that  he  hatli  on  his  body,  as  mesel,  crolced  haiivt^  or  by 
som  sinnc  tliat  he  doth.'     Chaucer,  Persones  Tale,  §  42. 

'•^  Compare  hull  luck  for  good  fortune  which  a  man  blunders  into. 


WOEDS  FROM   THE  NAMES   OF  ANIMALS  365 

kind  of  fig.'  Horse  chestnuts,  however,  are  so  called  from 
being  fed  to  horses. 

JNIany  adjectives  (of  tlie  nature  of  similes,  and  closely 
comparable  to  the  phrases  cited  on  p.  362)  exist  in  the 
language.  Such  are  lionlike,  dogged,  wolfish,  cattish,  cur- 
rish, sheepish,  elephantine  (for  '  clums3^'  often  used  of 
literary  style),  hoggish,  piggish,  heai^ish,  omdish,  apish.  We 
speak  of  'mulish  obstinacy'  and  'owlish  commentators.' 
Shakspere  has  cowish  for  '  cowardly,'  probably  because  the 
cow  is  not  valiant ;  but  also,  no  doubt,  under  the  influence 
of  coivard,  which  has  really  nothing  to  do  with  coio  (being 
O.  Fr.  couard,  from  coue,  L.  coda,  cauda,  '  tail,'  with  the 
ending  -ard^^.  Observe  that  many  of  these  adjectives 
end  in  -ish,  a  termination  meaning  simply  'like'  or  're- 
sembling,' but  frequently  implying  contempt  (boyish, 
childish,  mannish,  wo^nanish} .  Foxy  is  a  colloquial  term 
for  'shrewd';  compare  the  'learned'  vulpine  (L.  vul- 
pinus') . 

A  few  verbs  belong  to  this  class  of  animal  names.  They 
come  easily  from  our  ability  to  use  almost  any  noun  as  a 
verb. 2  To  ape  is  to  '  imitate '  (especially  in  a  ridiculous  or 
ineffective  way).  To  gull  is  to  'cheat.'  Gull  formerly 
meant  'a  young  bird'  of  any  kind.  In  Elizabethan  English 
it  was  applied  to  an  unsophisticated  youngster  who  wished 
to  be  thought  knowing.  To  monJcey  with  is  slang  for  to 
'  meddle  with,'  monkeys  being  proverbially  unable  to  let 
anything  alone.  A  vulgar  but  expressive  American 
warning  is  'Don't  monkey  with  the  buzz-saw.'  We  may 
'  dog  one's  steps,'  or  '  hound  a  man,'  or  '  worm  our  way  into 
his  confidence '  (cf.  insinuate,  'to  wind  in,'  from  L.  sinuo'). 
To  rat  is  an  expression  for  deserting  one's  party  or  associ- 
ates, as  rats  are  said  to  forsake  a  ship  that  is  unseaworthy. 

1  See  p.  141.  2  See  p.  192. 


36G  WORDS  AND    THEIR    WAYS 

It  is  common  in  England,  but  only  imitative  in  this  coun- 
try. To  gawk  is  to  '  stare  about '  like  an  awkward  green- 
horn. A  gmvk  is  properly  a  cuckoo  and  comes  from  the 
Old  Norse.  Cuckoo  itself  was  once  used  for  '  simpleton,'  as 
by  Falstaff  in  addressing  Prince  Hal.  To  badger  is  to 
'abuse  Avith  words  '  (as  a  badger  is  baited  with  dogs).  To 
craivjish  is  an  expressive  American  slang  term  for  to  '  back 
out'  of  an  ao-reement  or  'back  down'  in  a  contention. 
Two  verbs  of  this  class  are  illustrated  by  the  omen  in 
Macbeth  :  — 

A  falcon,  towering  in  lier  jwide  of  place, 
Was  by  a  mousing  owl  hawJc'd  at  and  kill'd. 

The  '  tame  villatic  fowl '  has  supplied  our  language  with 
the  verb  heyipeck  (now  commonest  as  an  adjective,  lien- 
pecked)^  for  which  Leontes,  in  The  Winter's  Tale,  uses 
the  ferocious  synonym  womaii-tired^  that  is,  'torn'  as  a  falcon 
tears  its  prey.  '  Cock  of  the  walk,'  '  cock  of  the  school,' 
to  crow  over  (Shakspere's  overcrow,  as  in  Hamlet's  'the 
potent  poison  quite  o'ercrows  my  spirit')  are  not  from 
the  barnyard,  but  from  cock-fighting. ^ 

Caprice  comes  (through  the  French)  from  the  Italian 
capriccio,  which  seems  originally  to  liave  meant  the  skip- 
ping movement  of  a  goat  (L.  caper^.  Capriola  (from  L. 
capra,  '  she-goat ')  means  '  fawn '  in  Italian,  and  this  has 
given  us  capriole  (perhaps  also  through  the  French), 
shortened  to  caper.  Caper  (for  sauce)  comes  from  L. 
eappari%  (Gr.  Kd7T7rapL<;^,  the  name  of  the  plant,  and  is 
probably  of  Oriental  origin. 

Tools,  utensils,  or  pieces  of  machinery  are  frequently 
named  after  animals.  Battering  ram  (or  simply  ?-«???) 
explains  itself.      The  llomans  called  such  an  implement 

J  Cf.  p.  57, 


WORDS  FROM   THE  NAMES   OF  ANIMALS  367 

aries,  '  ram,'  and  sometimes  made  the  end  of  it  into  the 
shape  of  a  rani's  head.  A  warship  provided  with  a  beak 
for  ramming  is  also  called  a  ra7n.  A  croivhar  (or  croiv')  gets 
its  name  from  the  fancied  resemblance  of  its  bent  and  flat- 
tened point  to  the  bill  of  a  crow.  A  frying-pan  is  called  a 
spider  in  some  parts  of  New  England.  The  cock  of  a  gun 
and  coch^  '  a  spigot,'  are  probably  from  some  fancied  resem- 
blance to  the  comb  of  a  cock.  It  is  curious  that  the  Ger- 
man Hahn  (though  not  related  to  our  word  cock)  has  both 
of  these  senses.  SawJiorse  and  Jio7'se  are  pieces  of  wooden 
framework  used  for  carrying  or  supporting  logs  and  the 
like.  Che veaux-de-f rise, '  Frisian  horses,' are  pieces  of  tim- 
ber set  with  long  iron  spikes  and  used  as  a  defence,  espe- 
cially against  cavalry.  The  name  (now  a  technical 
military  term)  was,  like  many  such  words,  originally 
slang,  and  came  from  the  use  of  this  device  by  the  Frisians 
in  the  seventeenth  century.  The  Roman  ecideus,  'little 
horse,'  was  an  instrument  of  torture.  An  English  reli- 
gious poet  of  the  fourteenth  century  describes  Christ  on 
the  cross  under  a  similar  figure :  '  on  stokky  stede  [steed] 
he  rode.'  Other  implements  which  bear  names  of  ani- 
mals are  dogs,  canting  dogs,  fire-dogs,  a  mule  (in  spinning), 
a  summer  beam  (also  called  a  summertree  ;  that  is,  the  beam 
which  bears  a  burden  on  each  side  of  it,  as  a  sumpfer  mule 
or  horse),  culverin  (from  L.  coluber,  '  snake,'  because  the 
figure  of  a  serpent  was  frequently  engraved  on  ordnance 
of  this  kind;  cf.  basilisk'^  for  a  kind  of  cannon), j^y  (for 
a  light  carriage),  tvorm  (for  the  spiral  part  of  a  still), 
'a  rat-fail  file.'  Similar  figures  are  the  medical  lupus, 
'wolf,'  and  cancer,  'crab,'  as  names  of  diseases. ^ 

There  are  many  proverbial  or  idiomatic  phrases  contain- 
ing the   names   of    animals,    and   sometimes  embodying 

1  See  p.  368.  «  See  p.  353. 


368  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

a  bit  of  popular  wisdom  or  rude  satire.  Such  are  bee-line, 
'as  the  crow  flies,'  'bird's-eye  view,'  'wild-goose  chase,' 
'  calf  love,'  '  wildcat  linaneiering,'  '  to  send  him  away  with 
a  flea  in  his  ear,'  '  nine  lives  like  a  cat,'  '  as  wise  as  a  Walt- 
ham  calf,'  'as  honest  as  Cooper's  cow.'  Most  of  these 
are  perspicuous,  but  others  allude  to  jests  or  anecdotic  nar- 
ratives that  have  suffered  the  iniquity  of  oblivion. 

Blind  bayard,  literally  '  bay  horse,'  ^  is  an  old  term  for  a 
heedless  man.  Its  use  and  meaning  are  well  explained  by  a 
passage  in  Chaucer's  Canon's  Yeoman's  Tale  (11.  860-1): — 

Ye  ben  as  hold  as  is  Bayard  the  blinde, 

That  bkmdreth  forth  and  peril  casteth  [imagines]  noon. 

A  '  spread-eagle  speech '  comes  from  the  old  style  of 
Fourth  of  July  oratory  in  this  country,  in  which  the  orator 
seemed  to  spread  his  wings  like  the  national  bird. 

The  Middle  Ages  possessed  a  great  stock  of  fantastic 
natural  history,  derived  in  great  part  from  Pliny  the 
Elder,  from  the  works  of  Aristotle  and  ^lian,  and 
from  a  Greek  treatise  of  the  second  century  A.D.  known 
as  Physiologus,  or  '  The  Naturalist.'  Such  lore  was  highly 
valued,  and  has  been  much  utilized  by  literary  men 
of  all  periods.  A  great  deal  of  it  became  popular  and 
traditional.  Hence  come  several  linguistic  curiosities. 
The  basilisk,  'royal  serpent'  or 'king  snake '  (Gr.  ^aac- 
XiaKo^,  basilisl'os,  from  /3a(ri\€v<i,  basileus,  'king';  cf. 
basilica,  Basil)  caused  death  by  a  subtle  poison  that  em- 
anated from  its  eyeballs.  Hence  'to  glare  like  a  basilisk ' 
means  to  stare  at  one  with  a  petrifying  or  annihilating 
glance,  like  Tennyson's  gorgonize.     A  person  who  can  en- 

1  The  termhiation  -ard  is  that  seen  in  drunkard,  braggart,  etc.,  and  is 
cognate  with  tlie  adjective  hard.  Liard,  'gray  horse,'  shows  the  same 
ending.     (See  p.  141.) 


WOEDS  FROM  THE  NAMES   OF  ANIMALS  369 

dure  much  heat  is  called  a  salamander,  since  this  animal 
was  supposed  to  live  in  the  element  of  fire.  Phoenix  may 
denote  a  person  of  unique  excellence,  a  '  nonpareil,'  since 
there  was  never  more  than  one  phcenix  in  the  world  at  a 
time.  More  commonly,  however,  we  use  the  word  in  allu- 
sion to  the  legend  that  the  phoenix  rose  from  its  own  ashes 
to  a  new  life.  In  former  times,  pelicayi  was  a  symbol  both 
of  parental  self-sacrifice  and  of  filial  ingi\atitude.  The 
mother  pelican  was  thought  to  feed  her  young  Avith  her 
own  blood,  which  the  nestlings  were  so  eager  to  taste  that 
they  sometimes  wounded  the  old  bird  with  their  beaks. 
The  dove  was  supposed  to  have  no  gall,  and  hence  to  be 
incapable  of  resentment.  Scorpion  for  '  flatterer '  comes 
from  the  action  of  this  reptile  in  curving  its  tail  over  its 
body  in  the  act  of  stinging.  Hence  the  scorpion  (which 
was  represented  with  a  human  countenance)  was  said  to 
flatter  with  its  face  while  it  stung  with  its  tail.^  In  addi- 
tion to  these  conceptions,  most  of  which  were  common 
property,  countless  other  bits  of  unnatural  history  are 
scattered  through  the  pages  of  our  older  writers.  The 
Elizabethan  Euphuists  were  fond  of  such  figures  and 
developed  them  with  wearisome  formality. ^  '  Deaf  as  an 
adder '  is  biblical  and  alludes  to  the  old  idea  that  the  adder 
either  could  not  or  would  not  hear  the  music  of  the 
charmer.  It  was  even  asserted  that  in  order  to  avoid 
the  sound  of  the  charmer's  voice  and  pipe,  the  adder 
pressed  one  ear  to  the  ground  and  inserted  its  tail  in  the 
other.  Crocodile  tears,  for  '  hypocritical  weeping '  alludes 
to  the  story  that  the  crocodile  shed  tears  over  the  prey 
which  it  devoured.  Compare  '  He  plays  with  his  victim 
as  a  cat  plays  with  a  mouse.'      Tlie  chimera  and  the  eha- 

1  Sec  Chaucer,  Man  of  Law's  Tale,  vv.  401-G. 

2  See  p.  117. 
2b 


370  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

meleon  may  also  be  mentioned.  'An  unlicked  cub  '  alludes 
to  the  belief  that  young  bears  are  born  as  formless  lumps, 
and  have  to  be  'licked  into  shape  '  by  their  dam.  The 
phrase  is  popularly  associated  with  lick,  '  to  beat,'  on  the 
principle  that  to  spare  the  rod  will  spoil  the  child. 

We  have  already  mentioned  fables.  These  have  a  com- 
plicated history,  into  which  it  is  impossible  to  enter.  Their 
origin,  however,  goes  far  back  in  the  history  of  our  race, 
suggesting  a  stage  of  civilization  in  which  the  psycho- 
logical differences  which  we  feel  between  man  and  the 
lower  animals  were  not  recognized.  The  stories  of  '  Uncle 
Remus  '  illustrate  a  developed  form  of  this  type.  As  civil- 
ization advanced,  naive  beast-stories,  founded  on  such  primi- 
tive conceptions  of  animated  nature,  grew  slowly  into  the 
literary  apologue  which  we  know  as  the  -iEsopic  fable. 
These  fables  have  given  us  a  number  of  proverbial  phrases, 
of  which  'to  cry  wolf,'  'to  nurse  an  adder  in  one's  bosom,' 
and  '  the  lion's  share '  are  perhaps  the  most  familiar  and 
picturesque.  'A  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing'  is  biblical 
(Matthew  vii.  15).  In  addition  to  this,  the  Middle  Ages 
had  a  well-developed  beast-epic  or  beast-romance,  partly 
based  on  the  literary  jEsopic  fable  and  j^artly  on  tradi- 
tional stories  about  animals.  In  this  epic,  the  leading 
characters  had  various  names,  two  of  which  have  main- 
tained themselves  in  our  language  :  reijnard,  for  the  fox, 
and  chanticleer,  for  the  cock.  Isegrim,  '  the  wolf,'  is  lost  in 
English,  and  Bruin,  '  the  bear,'  entered  our  language  from 
a  Dutch  form  of  the  epic  at  a  comparatively  late  period. 
Dame  Partlet  for  the  hen  (and  figuratively  for  a  bustling 
or  fussy  woman)  has  been  traced  no  farther  back  than 
Chaucer's  tale  of  the  Cock  and  the  Fox  (The  Nonne 
Prestes  Tale). 

In  taking  leave  of  the  interesting  category  of  words  and 


WORDS  FEOM  THE  NANTES   OF  AXTMALS  371 

phrases  derived  from  tlie  names  of  animals,  we  must  once 
more  emphasize  the  distinctly  '  popular '  character  of  this 
part  of  our  vocabulary.  Even  such  of  them  as  owe  their 
presence  in  it  to  literary  treatment  are  derived,  in  the  last 
analysis,  from  primitive  man's  naive  conception  of  the 
world  about  him.  So  modern  a  word  as  the  colloquial 
foxy,  'sly,'  leads  us  straight  back,  by  an  unbroken  clew, 
to  the  infancy  of  the  race.  Here  is  the  explanation  of  the 
pertinacity  with  which  animal  symbolism  has  held  its 
ground  in  the  most  cultivated  tongues.  The  fox  is  a  syn- 
onym for  '  craft '  with  thousands  of  persons  who  have 
never  seen  reynard  in  propria  persona,  —  to  whom,  indeed, 
the  fox  is  as  literary  a  character  as  the  behemoth  or  the 
leviathan. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

WORDS   FROM   PLACES   OR   PERSONS 

One  of  the  most  entertaining  chapters  in  the  histor}- 
of  our  vocabulary  deals  with  words  from  proper  names. 
These  are  of  every  conceivable  kind.  Some  are  mere  nick- 
names, originating  in  slang  or  the  humors  of  the  hour,  and 
perpetuated  either  because  they  seem  to  fill  a  gap  in  the 
language  or  l)ecause  they  suggest  allusions  or  anecdotes 
which  it  tickles  our  fancy  to  remember  ;  others  are  serious 
technical  terms,  coined  in  honor  of  an  inventor  or  a  dis- 
coverer. They  may  come  from  history  or  from  literature, 
indifferently.  Sometimes  their  origin  is  obscure,  because 
the  story  or  the  incident  to  which  they  allude,  though 
striking  enough  to  attract  attention  at  the  moment  and 
thus  to  give  rise  to  a  new  word  or  phrase,  has  not  proved 
of  sufficient  importance  to  be  put  on  record. 

The  process  that  we  are  considering  may  go  no  farther 
than  to  transfer  the  name  of  a  well-known  personage  to 
some  one  who  resembles  him.  Thus,  we  may  call  a  great 
orator  '  a  Demosthenes'  or  'a  Burke '  or  '  a  Webster,'  a  great 
general  '  a  Wellington'  or  '  a  Marlborough,'  a  cruel  tyrant 
'  a  Nero,'  the  assertor  of  his  country's  liberties  '  a  Wash- 
ington.' This  happens  every  day  and  calls  for  no  remark. 
A  further  step  is  taken  when  the  name  of  such  a  character 
is  used  for  all  who  resemble  him.  It  is  then  a  pure  com- 
mon noun,  and,  if  our  coinage  passes  current,  the  language 
has  gained  a  word.     Perhaps  the  most  impressive  example 

372 


]VOEDS   FROM   PLACES   OR   PERSONS  373 

is  Ccesar  which,  origiually  the  name  of  a  Roman  family  of 
no  great  distinction,  has  become  a  synonym  for  '  emperor ' 
in  languages  so  widely  different  as  German  {Kaiser)  and 
Russian  {Tsar}.^ 

Examples  of  such  nouns  are  :  hector,  'a  bully,'  from  a 
wrong  conception  of  the  great  Trojan's  character ;  mentor, 
'  a  wise  counsellor,'  from  the  sage  adviser  of  Telemachus 
in  the  Odyssey  ;  Nestor,  '  a  veteran,'  from  the  aged  hero  in 
the  Iliad,  who  had  ruled  three  generations  of  men  ;  Solon, 
from  the  Athenian  lawgiver  (one  of  the  Seven  Wise  Men), 
'a  sage,'  often  used  jocosely  of  a  person  who  has  an  ha- 
bitual air  of  sagacity  ;  Skylock,  '  a  merciless  usurer,'  or,  in 
general,  '  a  grasping  money-getter  ' ;  Judas,  '  a  traitor,'  or, 
in  particular, '  a  false  friend  '  (cf.  '  a  Judas  kiss  ')  ;  paudar 
(or  pander),  from  the  part  played  by  Pandarus  (^Pan- 
dare)  in  Chaucer's  romance  of  Troilus  and  in  Shakspere's 
Troilus  and  Cressida  ;  ^  Bai/ard,  '  a  knight  without  fear 
and  without  reproach,'  then,  generally,  'a  high-minded 
and  chivalrous  gentleman  '  ;  Braggadocio  (from  a  character 
in  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene),  formed  from  hrag  and  a  quasi- 
Italian  termination,  'a  cowardly  boaster'  ;  Brawcansir,  'a 
swashbuckler,'  from  a  character  in  The  Rehearsal,  tlie 
famous  burlesque  play  written  to  caricature  Dry  den  ; 
Mcecenas,  '  a  patron  of  literature,'  from  one  of  Augustus's 
ministers,  who  favored  literary  men  ;  dunce  (from  Bmis 
Scotus,   a   celebrated    scholastic   philosopher),   'a   stupid 


^  The  Anglo-Saxons  had  the  word  in  the  form  cdse.re,  whence  kaser  ni 
Middle  English,  but  kaiser,  another  Middle  English  form,  shows  High 
German  influence.     Spenser's  kesar  is  an  intentional  archaism. 

2  Pandarus  is  a  Trojan  hero  in  the  Iliad,  but  his  activity  as  a  go-between 
dates  from  the  Middle  Ages.  Chaucer's  Fandare  is  a  development  from 
Boccaccio's  Fandaro,  but  is  very  different  from  his  prototype,  being, 
indeed,  the  most  remarkable  character-study  ia  our  literature  before  the 
Elizabethan  age.     Shakspere's  Paudar  is  Chaucer's,  utterly  debased. 


374  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

person,'  first  applied  in  contempt  to  the  schoolmen  who 
opposed  the  new  or  humanistic  learning  ;  Timon,  '  a  misan- 
thrope,' from  a  celebrated  Athenian  whose  life  was  written 
by  Plutarch  and  dramatized  by  Shakspere  ;  Lucretia,  '  a 
virtuous  woman,'  from  Collatinus's  wife,  whose  tragic  fate 
forms  a  part  of  the  legendary  history  of  Rome ;  Benedick 
or  Benedict,  'a  newly  married  man,'  from  a  character  in 
Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  who  rails  against  wedlock,  but 
finally  succumbs  to  the  charms  of  Beatrice;^  Satan,  'a 
person  of  diabolical  wickedness'  (cf.  devil),  or,  jocosely, 
'  a  little  Satan,' '  a  mischievous  child'  ;  Termagant, '  a  scold,' 
from  a  supposed  god  of  the  Saracens,  whom  the  IMiddle 
Ages  regarded  as  idolaters. ^ 

The  Bible  has  given  us  a  number  of  similar  terms  :  as, 
—  a  JosejjJi,  a  Job,  a  Samson,  a  Solomon,  a  MethusalaJi,  an 
Ishmael,  a  '  doubting  Thomas,'  a  '  Good  Samaritan,''  a  Dives, 
a  lazar  (from  Lazarus),  'to  raise  Cain.''  Jezebel  has  con- 
tributed her  name  to  our  vocabulary  in  two  senses.  In 
accordance  with  the  wicked  queen's  true  character,  every 
haughty  woman  may  be  called  a  Jezebel,  and  it  is  with  this 
in  mind  that  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek  applies  the  name, 
with  fine  disregard  of  gender,  to  the  strutting  Malvolio. 
But  Jezebel  more  commonly  means  'a  flaunting  jade,'  — 
especially  in  the  phrase  '  a  painted  Jezebel,''  from  the  pas- 
sage in  which  we  read  that  '  Jezebel  painted  her  face,  and 
tired  her  head,  and  looked  out  at  a  window'  (II  Kings 
ix.  30). 

A  pasquinade  is  a  lampoon,  such  as  used  to  be  attached 
to  a  mutilated  statue  in  Rome  called  Pasquin,  from  Pas- 

1  The  word  is  used  with  particular  allusion  to  a  passage  iu  which  Bene- 
dick is  jeeringly  greeted  by  Don  Pedro  as  'Benedick,  the  married  man.' 

-  Hence  Saracen  in  Middle  English  is  frecjuently  'pagan,'  and  some- 
times is  substituted  for  '  heathen  Dane '  (as  in  one  version  of  the  romance 
of  King  Horn). 


WORDS  FROM  PLACES  OR  PERSONS  375 

quino,  a  cobbler  celebrated  for  his  wit,  who  lived  and 
worked  near  the  place  where  it  was  exhumed.  A  lovelace 
is  a  person  like  the  rake  in  Richardson's  Clarissa  Harlowe  ; 
a  gay  Lothario  gets  his  name  from  a  similar  character  in 
Rowe's  Fair  Penitent  ;  Don  Juan  was  a  Spanish  liber- 
tine, whose  adventures  were  traditionally  current  in  Seville 
before  they  received  literary  and  musical  treatment  at  the 
hands  of  Tellez,  Moliere,  Goldoni,  Gllick,  and  Byron. 
Paul  Pry  is  a  character  in  a  comedy  by  John  Poole. 
Simon  Pure  is  a  Quaker  in  Mrs.  Centlivre's  Bold  Stroke 
for  a  Wife.  Tartuffe  for  '  hypocrite '  is  from  Moliere. 
Squire  of  Dames  is  a  character  in  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene 
(iii,  7,  51).  Fidus  Achates  is  ^Eneas's  friend  in  Virgil. 
A  Mrs.  Harris  for  a  '  non-existent  person,'  a  '  myth,'  is 
from  Mrs.  Gamp's  fictitious  patron  in  Martin  Chuzzlewit, 
and  practical  Crradgrind  is  in  Hard  Times.  3Irs.  Grrundy 
is  often  referred  to  as  a  standard  of  propriety  by  Dame 
Ashfield  in  Morton's  Speed  the  Plow.  Dulcinea  was 
Don  Quixote's  ladylove.  The  Rev.  Dr.  Dryasdust  is  a 
device  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's.  Roorback,  '  a  campaign  lie,' 
is  named  after  The  Travels  of  Baron  Roorback,  a  fiction 
intended  to  injure  Polk  when  he  was  a  candidate  for  the 
presidency  in  1844.     Rip  Van  Winkle  needs  no  interpreter. 

'  The  driving  is  like  the  driving  of  Jehu,  the  son  of 
Nimslii,  for  he  driveth  furiously  '  has  given  us,  jehu, '  coach- 
,  man.'  As  for  Nimshi,  his  father,  his  name  is  still  used  in 
New  England  for  a  mischievous  child  — '  a  regular  little 
Nirnshi. '  ^  Nimrod  was  '  a  mighty  hunter  before  the  Lord  ' ; 
Achitophel  led  Absolom  astray  by  evil  counsel  ;  '  a  Daniel 
come  to  judgment'  is  Shylock's  allusion  to  the  story  of 
Susannah. 

There  are  also  an  abundance  of  classical  proper  names 

1  A  similar  use  of  Jebusite  is  more  iutellii^ible. 


376  WOEDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

that  are  used  in  the  same  manner :  as,  —  an  amazon,  a  Juno^ 
a  Circe  (cf .  '  Circean  wiles  '),  '  a  perfect  Adonis,''  '  an  out- 
and-out  Xanthippe.'' 

Now  and  then  the  name  of  a  town  or  the  like  is  used  in 
the  same  way:  as,  —  'a  babel  of  sounds,'  from  the  confu- 
sion of  tongues  at  the  Tower  of  Babel  ;  Mecca,  for  a  place 
of  pilgrimage,  or,  even  the  goal  of  one's  aspirations ; 
'  one's  Capua,''  for  an  easy  position  which  tempts  to  neglect 
of  duty,  from  the  enervating  effect  of  Hannibal's  winter 
quarters  in  this  luxurious  town.  The  Land  of  Nod,  for 
'slumber-land,'  is  a  pretty  pun  (see  Genesis  iv.  16). 
The  constellation  Ursa  Minor  was  called  '  Dog's  Tail,' 
Kvv6<i  ovpci  Qcun6s  ourd^,  by  the  Greeks.  It  was  a  guide 
to  mariners  (like  the  Pole  Star),  and  this  has  given  us 
cynosure,  for  'the  observed  of  all  observers.'  A  j)assage 
in  Milton's  L' Allegro  has  done  much  to  keep  the  word 
alive.  Palace  is  palatium,  the  house  of  Augustus  on  the 
Palatine  Hill. 

The  adjective  maudlin,  'ridiculously  tearful  or  senti- 
mental,' comes,  through  the  French,  from  Magdalen.  This 
was  the  surname  of  Mary  of  Magdala  (a  town  in  Palestine), 
one  of  the  early  disciples  of  Christ.  She  was  identified 
(without  good  grounds)  with  the  '  woman  who  was  a  sinner ' 
(Luke  vii.  36),  whence  3Iagdalen,  'penitent.'  The  adjec- 
tive use  of  maudlin  was  doubtless  suggested  by  pictures  of 
the  weeping  Magdalen. 

Some  of  the  words  that  we  have  mentioned  have  had 
a  further  development  of  meaning.  Judas  is  applied  to 
a  peep-hole  in  a  gate  or  door.  Braggadocio  has  been 
transferred  from  the  person  to  the  quality,  and  "usually 
signifies  'empty  boasting.'  So  chimera,  the  name  of  a 
fabulous  monster  composed  of  diherent  parts  of  incon- 
gruous animals,  has  become  a  synonym  for  a  '  wild  fancy ' 


WORDS   FROM  PLACES   OR   PERSONS  377 

or  'grotesque  idea.'  3IaIiomet  has  had  a  strange  history, 
lu  the  Middle  Ages  it  was  thought  that  the  Mohammedans 
worshipped  idols.  Thus,  the  name  of  their  prophet,  in 
the  form  Maumet,  became  a  synonym  for  'idol,'^  and  then 
for  '-image'  in  general,  and  hence  we  have  mammet  for 
a  child's  'doll,'  or  even  for  a  'baby.'  Old  Capulet  up- 
braids Juliet  as  a  'whining  mammet.''  An  interesting 
transference  has  taken  place  in  Frankenstein.  In  Mrs. 
Shelley's  novel,  Frankenstein  is  a  young  German  physi- 
ologist who  manufactures  a  human  being  out  of  fragments, 
endows  it  with  life  by  some  mysterious  process,  and  is 
forever  haunted  by  the  creature,  who  finally  causes  his 
death.  Hence,  a  Frankenstein  is  properly  one  who  is 
'hoist  with  his  own  petard.'  Yet  one  hears  the  term  used 
for  '  a  creature  that  torments  his  creator,'  as  if  it  had  been 
the  name  of  the  monster  that  Frankenstehi  made. 

Tawdry^  'vulgarly  fine,'  is  a  corruption  of  Saint  Audrey, 
that  is,  Saint  Ethelreda,  and  was  first  applied  to  what  was 
called  a  'tawdry  lace,'  that  is,  a  kind  of  lace  bought  at 
Saint  Audrey's  Fair.  The  initial  t  is  all  that  is  left  of  the 
adjective  Saint.  Compare  Brummagem  (from  Birming- 
ham) and  pinchbeck  (a  man's  name). 

Now  and  then  a  proper  name  is  used  as  a  verb.^  Thus, 
to  Hector  is  '  to  play  the  bully,'  or,  in  a  slightly  generalized 
sense,  'to  torment'  or  'tease.'  T\\q  ^eih  pander  is  com- 
moner than  the  substantive.  It  is  figuratively  used  of 
almost  any  kind  of  base  subserviency.  Thus,  one  may 
pander  to  the  vices  of  another  or  to  his  prejudices  or  to 
his  love  of   flattery.      From    one   Burke,   an    Edinburgh 

1  'What  difference  is  bitwixe  an  ydolastre,'  asks  Cliaucer's  Parson, 
'and  an  avaricious  man,  but  that  an  ydolastre,  per  aventure,  hath  but  o 
{i.e.  one)  mawmet  or  two,  and  the  avaricious  man  hath  manye  ?  For 
certes,  every  florin  in  his  cofre  is  his  mmomet.'     The  Persones  Tale,  §  04. 

'■^  As  may  be  the  case  with  almost  any  English  noun  (see  p.  192). 


378  WOEDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

criminal,  who  murdered  many  persons  in  order  to  sell 
their  bodies  to  surgeons  for  dissection,  comes  the  verb 
to  burke  (always  figuratively  used),  'to  smother,'  'to  pass 
over  in  silence':  as,  —  'His  book  was  burked  by  the 
critics.'  Burke  and  his  gang  used  to  smother  their  vic- 
tims in  order  that  the  bodies  might  show  no  marks  of 
violence.  To  '  out-Herod  Herod '  is  from  Hamlet's  de- 
scription of  a  ranting  player.  It  alludes  to  the  furious 
demeanor  of  the  Herod  of  the  old  religious  drama,  v\^hose 
raging  was  not  confined  to  the  scaffold  on  which  such 
plays  were  presented,  but  extended  to  the  street  as  well. 
'  Here  Herod  rages,'  says  an  old  stage  direction,  '  in  this 
pageant,  and  in  the  street  also.'  To  boycott  is  said  to  be 
from  Captain  Boycott,  who  was  the  first  boycotted  land- 
lord in  Ireland.  The  term  has  extended  far  beyond  the 
limits  of  its  original  application.  A  guy,  for  a  '  queer- 
looking  person'  (especially  one  who  is  badly  dressed), 
and  the  verb  to  guy,  '  to  make  fun  of,'  come  from  the 
efhgy  of  Guy  Fawkes,  carried  in  procession  on  the  fifth 
of  November,  the  anniversary  of  the  Gunpowder  Plot. 
To  meander  comes  from  the  winding  course  of  the  river 
Mceandcr  in  Phrygia. 

To  lynch  is  something  of  a  mystery.  '■Lynch  law'  has 
the  air  of  being  named  after  a  person,  and  there  have  been 
various  claimants,  but  the  original  Judge  Lynch  is  still 
unidentified.  The  phrase  is  singularly  parallel  to  the  Eng- 
lish '  Lydford  law,'  which  is  mentioned  by  William  Browne 
as  already  proverbial  in  the  seventeenth  century :  — 

I  oft  have  heard  of  L  yd  ford  lau-, 
How  in  the  morn  they  hang  and  draw, 
And  sit  in  judgment  after. 

The  reference  is  to  the  stannary  courts  at  Lydford  in 
Devonshire,  which  were  extremely  arbitrary  in  their  action. 


WOBDS  FROM  PLACES   OR  PERSONS  379 

But  the  phrase  'law  of  Lydford,'  for  summary  justice,^ 
has  been  traced  as  far  back  as  the  fourteenth  century, 
which  seems  to  be  too  early  for  the  tinners,  but  may  refer 
to  the  severity  of  the  forestry  laws ;  for  Lydford  was  the 
seat  of  (xovernment  for  the  ancient  Forest  of  Dartmoor. 

The  ending  -ize  (or  -ise)  is  sometimes  used  to  make  a 
verb  from  a  proper  name.  It  is  an  adaptation  of  the 
Greek  -izo,  Avhich  had  a  similar  function  (as  fxtjEi^o),  mcdizo, 
'to  Medize,'  'to  favor  the  Medes").  Thus  we  have  tanta- 
lize, from  Tantalus,  —  now  commonest  in  the  adjective 
use,  as  'a  tantalizing  sight.'  So  bowdlerize,  'to  expurgate' 
(always  with  a  contemptuous  suggestion  of  prudery), 
from  Dr.  Bawdier,  who  published  a  '  family  Shakspere ' 
in  1818.  Two  years  before,  J.  L.  Macadam  liad  intro- 
duced the  plan  of  macadamizing  roads. ^  To  liarvey  or 
harveyize  steel  is  an  American  invention;  the  process  is 
named  after  the  discoverer,  H.  A.  Harvey.  Maud's  lover 
in  TQl-myisO\\^Y?i■s,  (jorgonized  'with  a  stony  British  stare.' 

Names  of  tribes  or  nations  have  often  become  common 
nouns,  usually  in  a  sense  according  with  supposed  na- 
tional characteristics.  Thus  Goth  may  designate  a  rude 
or  barbarous  man  ;  Vandal  (whence  vandalism'),  a  wanton 
destroyer  ;  Turk,  a  ferocious  person ;  Jew,  a  usurer  or  one 
who  drives  a  sharp  bargain ;  Yankee,  a  keen  or  tricky 
trader.  '  The  myrmidons  of  the  law '  preserve  the  name 
of  the  ferocious  tribe  that  followed  Achilles  to  Troy. 
Tartar,  for  a  '  peppery  person '  or  '  tough  customer,'  still 
carries  a  faint  suggestion  of  the  terror  inspired  by  the 
Tartar  invasion  of  Europe  in  the  thirteentli  century. 
The   change   from   Tatar    (the   native    name)    to    Tartar 

1  Cf.  the  American  phrase  'Jersey  {i.e.  New  Jersey)  justice.' 
-  The  noun  macadam.,  for  the  'surface'  of  such  a  road,  is  a  back-for- 
mation from  the  verb  macadamize. 


380  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

(from  Tartarus')  is  more  impressive  testimony.  Ogre  is 
'■  Hungarian,'  —  through  a  confusion  of  the  Magyars  with 
the  Huns,  and  of  both  with  the  dreaded  Tartars.^  Gyi^sy . 
is  Egyptian^  and  is  used  in  half  a  dozen  derived  senses. 
Bohemian  was  often  substituted  for  '-  Gypsy '  (by  an  easy 
etlmological  mistake)  ;  hence  the  modern  social  Bohemiari^ 
—  a  coinage  of  Thackeray's.  /Street  Arab  is  also  a  recent 
term  for  a  particular  variety  of  nomad.  Slave  is  Slav, 
since  the  Germans  reduced  many  of  this  race  to  servi- 
tude. We  have  the  word  from  the  French,  which  bor- 
rowed it  from  the  German  ;  but  it  is  the  national  name 
of  the  Slavonian  people.  A  blackamoor  is  a  'black  Moor,' 
that  is,  by  another  blunder  in  ethnology,  an  '  Ethiopian ' 
or  negro.  The  Assassins  were  a  fanatical  Eastern  sect 
who,  like  the  Thugs,  committed  murder  for  the  glory 
of  their  divinit3\  The  name  is  an  Arabic  derivative  of 
hasJdsJi,  — to  the  use  of  which  the  Assassins  were  addicted. 
The  Zouaves  are  a  tribe  of  Algerian  mountaineers  (cf. 
Croat  for  any  'irregular'  soldier). 

Derivatives  from  personal,  national,  or  local  names  have 
also  become  common  in  special  senses.  The  boasting  Gas- 
cons have  given  us  gasconade  and  gasconading.  Compare 
''Roman  firmness,'  ^ Punic  faith'  (for  'perfidy,'  L.  Ptmica 
fides;  cf.  the  Frenchman's  'perfidious  Albion'),  '•Attic 
salt '  (for  '  wit,'  L.  sal  Attieuni),  and  Thackeray's  version  of 
Persicos  odi  puer  apparatus,  — '  I  hate  all  your  Frenchified 
stuff.  '  A  '  Parthian  shot '  was  very  literal  to  Crassus,  who 
found  to  his  cost  that  the  flight  of  the  Partliians  was  more 
to  be  dreaded  than  their  onset  ;  to  us  it  is  only  an  elegant 
and  pointed  synonym  for  one  method  of  '  having  the  last 
word.'  Romance  is  an  Old  French  word  for  the  '  vernacu- 
lar '  (the  lingua  Romanica.  or  vulgar  Latin,  as  opposed  to 

1  Wiener,  in  Anglia,  XXIII,  107. 


WOBDS  FROM  PLACES   OR    PERSONS  381 

the  learned  tradition  of  the  schools),  and  was  easily  trans- 
ferred to  a  'tale'  or  'story'  in  the  vernacnlar.  Most  of  the 
Middle  English  romatices  are  translations  from  the  French. 
The  development  of  the  word  has  been  of  the  mnltifarious 
kind.  Observe  the  variety  of  suggestion  in  '  a  romantic 
girl,'  '  nineteenth-century  romanticism,'  '  the  Romance 
languages,'  '  he  gave  a  romancing  account  of  his  journey.' 

Sir  Thomas  More's  Utopia.}  a  fanciful  sketch  of  the 
ideal  commonwealth,  has  given  us  the  adjective  Utopian. 
Atlantis  was  a  fabled  continent  in  the  Atlantic  Ocean, 
which  Plato  and  others  mention.  Bacon's  Neiv  Atlantis 
supplied  Milton  with  Atlanfean,  in  the  same  sense,  but  this 
has  never  got  into  general  use,  perhaps  because  we  already 
had  atlas  (from  the  giant's  name).  The  Earthly  Paradise 
was  often  sought  in  mediaeval  times.  The  Spaniards  of 
the  sixteenth  century  believed  that  a  golden  country 
existed  somewhere  in  South  America,  and  Raleigh  thought 
he  could  find  it  in  Guiana.  This  is  Ul  Dorado,  '  the  gilded' 
(Spanish,  from  L.  de-aurare,  'to  gild,'  from  aumm,  'gold'  ), 
—  a  kind  of  romantic  equivalent  of  '  the  Promised  Land ' 
of  the  Israelites. 

Castles  in  the  air  tells  its  own  story.  Castles  in  Spain, 
however,  we  should  not  understand,  if  we  did  not  know 
that  it  is  a  mere  translation  of  chateaux  en  Espagne. 
'  Across  the  Pyrenees '  is  a  natural  outlook  for  a  French- 
man, but  not  for  a  native  of  England.  When  the  trans- 
lated '  castles  in  Spain '  crosses  the  sea,  and  is  used  by 
Americans  or  Australians,  its  rationale  seems  still  less 
obvious.     In  other  words,  the  whole  phrase  has  become  a 

^That  is,  'the  land  of  Nowhere,'  from  Gr.  oi,  'not'  and  totto';, 
'place'  (as  in  topngrnphy,  topical).  Compare  Carlyle's  Weissnirhtim 
(  'I  know  not  where'),  the  city  where  Teufelsdrockh  was  professor  of 
'science  in  general'  (Allerley-Wissenschaft). 


382  WOBDS  ANT)   TTIETB    WAYS 

mere  symbol,  and  we  do  not  think  of  analj'zing  it  any  more 
than  if  it  were  a  single  word. 

From  persons,  real  or  fictitions,  we  have  thrasonical, 
'boastfnl,'  from  Thraso,  the  braggart  in  Terence's  Eunu- 
chus ;  quixotic,  from  Don  Quixote ;  'in  a  Pickivickian 
sense,'  from  an  amusing  passage  in  the  records  of  the 
Pickwick  Club  ;  magic,  from  the  Persian  Magi  or  '  wise 
men';  stoical  and  stoicism  for  'unruffled  fortitude,'  'insen- 
sibility to  pain'  (see  p.  39);  epicurean,  from  Epicurus; 
cynical,  from  the  C3aiic  (i.e.  ' currish' )i  philosophers, 
especially  Diogenes  ;  '•platonic  love,'  from  an  attempt  to 
adapt  the  doctrine  of  Plato  to  modern  social  life;  machia- 
vellian, in  a  sense  of  unscrupulous  craft  that  Machiavelli 
would  certainly  have  repudiated;  mosaic,  from  the  Muses, 
but  perhaps  confused  with  Mosaic  from  Moses  (cf.  Jeivs'' 
work  for  arabesque^)  ;  simony,  from  Simon  Magus,  who 
offered  money  for  a  share  in  the  apostles'  mysterious 
powers  (Acts  viii.);  jeremiad,  'a  mournful  or  denunciatory 
speech,'  from  the  Lamentations  of  the  prophet  Jeremiah ; 
panic,  for  '  panic  fear,'  literally  such  unreasoning  terror  as 
the  god  Pan  was  supposed  to  inspire  by  his  sudden  appear- 
ance to  a  solitary  wanderer  ;  stentorian,  from  Stentor,  the 
herald  of  the  Greeks  before  Troy  ;  morris  dance,  from  the 
Spanish  morisco,  'Moorish.' 

Frequently  the  name  of  a  person  is  applied  to  a  thing, 
because  he  invented,  discovered,  or  introduced  it,  or 
because  the  inventor  named  it  after  him.  Thus  boots  may 
he,  Wellingtons,^  or  Bluchers;  a  mackintosh  is  a  kind  of 
waterproof  cloak ;  broughams  and  victorias  are  carriages ; 

1  Greek  kwikI)^,  from  kvwv,  kvi>6?,  '  dog'  (as  in  cynosure,  see  p.  370). 

2  Chaucer,  Sir  Thopas,  v.  1 53. 

^  For  the  omission  of  the  general  term  (as  boots,  coat,  etc.)  in  such 
cases,  see  p.  255. 


WOBDS  FROM  PLACES   OR  PERSONS  383 

shrajmel  was  invented  by  General  Shrapnel  of  the  British 
army  ;  a  phaeton  is  so  called  from  the  unlucky  son  of 
Phoebus,  who  drove  a  chariot  so  disastrously  ;  a  roquelaure 
(eighteenth  century)  was  named  after  a  French  duke  of 
the  time  of  Louis  XIV.  Every  rank  in  life  is  represented. 
Thus  we  have  orrery^  '  a  machine  to  represent  the  motions 
of  the  solar  system,'  from  the  Earl  of  Orrery  ;  and  derrick, 
for  '  a  hoisting  apparatus,'  from  Derrick  the  hangman. 
Derrick  'flourished'  about  1600,  at  Tyburn.  His  name 
is  an  anglicised  form  of  Dierryk  or  Diederik,  which 
is  the  Dutch  for  Thcoderic, —  the  great  king  of  the 
Ostrogoths.  Theoderic  is,  being  interpreted,  'mighty 
among  the  people."  This  brings  us  to  the  conundrum  of 
the  gravedigger  in  Hamlet,  who  insisted  that  the  hangman 
'builds  stronger  than  the  mason  or  the  carpenter.'  Noth- 
ing is  more  democratic  than  language,  or  conducts  one  to 
more  preposterous  conclusions. 

A  sandwich  is  so  called  from  the  Earl  of  Sandwich,  a 
passionate  gambler,  who  is  said  once  to  have  saved  time  at 
a  game  by  stratifying  the  bread  and  meat  which  his  servant 
brought  to  the  card-tal)le.  An  amusing  instance  of  this 
kind  of  derivation  is  the  word  spencer.  The  Earl  of 
Spencer,  a  celebrated  dandy  about  1800,  once  made  a  bet 
that  he  could  introduce  the  fashion  of  wearing  an  overcoat 
so  short  that  the  tails  of  his  coat  would  appear  beneath  it. 
He  won  his  bet,  and  the  name  spencer  was  given  to  short 
coats  of  this  style,  and  has  since  been  transferred  to  a 
woman's  garment. 

The  language  of  science  is  full  of  similar  terms,  which 
sometimes  get  into  common  use.  Naturalists  like  to  ticket 
new  species  of  plants  and  animals  with  queer  Latin  desig- 
nations formed  from  the  names  of  the  persons  whom  they 
delight  to   honor,  —  their   patrons    or  predecessors,  their 


384  WORDS  AND   THEIE    WAYS 

colleagues  or  personal  friends,  or,  perhaps,  the  explorer 
who  brought  home  the  specimen.  Thus  we  have  dahlia 
(from  Da  III),  fuchsia  (from  Fuchs)^  wistaria  (from  Wista)-), 
—  all  three  well-known  flowers  ;  cinchoyia^  from  the  Count- 
ess Chinchon^  who  introduced  Peruvian  bark  into  Europe ; 
and  so  on  ad  infinitum.  Modern  electrical  science  has 
applied  to  particular  units  of  measurement  the  names  of 
ohm,  volt  (from  Volta  ;  cf.  voltaic'),  ampere,  watt,  thus  cele- 
brating the  services  of  a  German,  an  Italian,  a  French,  and 
a  Scotch  investigator.  St.  Vitus'  dance  and  St.  Anthony^s 
fire  ('erysipelas')  are  named  from  the  saints  invoked  to  cure 
them;  cf.  kinr/s  ^-vzV  for  '  scrofula.'  '•  ffermetically  sesded'' 
celebrates  the  fame  of  Hermes  Trismegistus,  the  supposed 
founder  of  alchemical  (or  hermetic')  philosophy,  —  Milton's 
'  thrice  great  Hermes,'  the  fabled  Egyptian  prophet,  priest, 
and  king. 

Articles  of  commerce  are  often  named  after  the  place 
from  which  they  come  or  are  supposed  to  come:  as,  —  Java, 
mocha,  oolong,  champagne,  sauterne,  sherry  (older  shei'ris, 
from  Xeres,  in  Spain);  camhric  (from  Iuimerik,i.e.  Cam- 
hrai)  ;  gin  (from  Greneva)  ;  china,  japan  ;  cashmere,  madras^ 
tweed,  muslin  (from  the  Mesopotamian  town  of  Mas- 
soul  or  Mausil)  ;  damask  (from  Damascus)  ;  fustian  (from 
Fustdt,  i.e.  Cairo);  morocco;  cordovan  or  cordwain  (from 
Cordova)  ;  landau,  herlin,  surrey  ;  ai^ras,  '  tapestry  hang- 
ings' (from  Arras,  in  France)  ;  fez  (from  Fez,  in  Morocco)  ; 
macassar  (from  a  district  in  the  Celebes  Islands).^  Com- 
pare basque,  polonaise,  jersey,  newmarlcet,  italics. 

Latakia  is  a  kind  of  tobacco,  from  a  town  of  that  name ; 

1  Byron's  'thy  incompafable  oil,  Macassar.'  Coin  pare  antimacassm', 
a  word  redolent  of  a  bygone  age.  Tkhj,  the  usual  term  in  America,  is 
surely  a  '  nicer '  word.  The  knotting  of  antimacassars  replaced  the  '  ply- 
ing of  samplers '  and,  to  some  extent,  '  the  teasing  of  the  housewife's 
wool. 


WORDS  FRO.V  PLACES  OR   PERSONS  385 

a  Laodicean  is  a  lukewarm  person,  from  the  reproof  of  the 
Revelation  to  the  Church  of  the  Laodiceans,  who  were  '  nei- 
ther cold  nor  hot.'  Latakia,  however,  is  only  the  Turk- 
ish form  of  the  ancient  Laodicea. 

Most  of  the  words  just  noted  are  obviously  place-names 
and  still  recognizable  as  such.  But  there  are  many  other 
similar  terms  whose  origin  is  seldom  thought  of.  Thus 
spaiiiel  is  a  '  Spanish  dog '  (O.  Fr.  espapiol)  ;  pistol  is 
from  Pistoja  (^Pistola,  through  Fr.  pistole}  ;  milliner 
is  Milaner,  one  who  imported  fal-lals  from  Milan ;  jet  is 
from  G-agas,  an  ancient  town  in  Asia  Minor  ;  pheasant 
is  from  the  river  Phasis  in  Pontus  ;  copper  (L.  cuprum^ 
was  aes  Cyprium^  '  bronze  from  Cyprus ' ;  finnan  Jiaddie 
(Jiaddock~)  is  from  the  Scotch  village  of  Findon  or  the 
river  FindJiorn,  or,  more  likely,  from  both  together ;  cur- 
rants are  '  raisins  de  Corinthe ' ;  a  canter  is  a  clij)ped  form 
of  '  Canterbury  gallop,'  an  easy  pace  such  as  pilgrims  rode 
on  their  way  to  Saint  Thomas's  shrine. 

3Iapiet  is  '  Magnesiaii  stone,'  from  the  district  of  Mag- 
nesia in  Thessaly  (whence  also  the  chemical  names 
magnesia  and  7nanganese^}.  The  mystery  of  the  load- 
stone has  been  a  constant  temptation  to  theorists  of  one 
school  or  another,  and  thus  magnetic  and  magnetism  have 
not  only  renounced  their  Thessalian  connections,  but  have 
turned  their  backs  on  mineralogy.  The  modern  figurative 
uses  of  the  words  —  as  in  '  a  magnetic  personality,'  '  he 
lacks  magnetism  '  —  might  easily  have  come  straight  from 
the  magnet.  In  fact,  however,  they  are  derived  from 
Mesmer's  speculations  on  '  animal  magnetism  '  (about 
1775).  As  Mesmer's  theory  of  a  physical  force  akin  to 
that  of  the  magnet  became  discredited,   the  phrase  was 

1  Manganese  is  a  doubtful  form,  but  is  thought  to  be  a  corruption  of 
Jj.  magnes,  'magnet.' 

2c 


386  WORDS  AND   THEIR    WAYS 

replaced  by  mesmerism^  which  was  popular  until  very 
recently.  But  Mesmer  was  felt  to  be  something  of  a 
charlatan.  At  all  events,  investigators  repudiated  his 
views  with  unanimous  enthusiasm.  It  was  not  tolerable, 
then,  that  his  name  should  remain  attached  to  a  great 
class  of  psychic  phenomena.  Hypnotism  was  accordingly 
coined  and  has  become  rapidly  popular.  Perhaps  this 
will  hold  the  field,  for,  coming  as  it  does  from  Gr.  v7rvo<i 
(JiUpnos')^  'sleep,'  it  is  vague  enough  to  cover  any  dis- 
coveries that  may  be  made  in  the  future. 

Sometimes  a  common  '  Christian  name,'  in  a  diminutive 
form,  is  jocosely  given  to  a  tool  or  other  implement, 
apparently  because  the  tool  is  looked  upon  as  a  pet 
or  fellow-Vv^orkman.  Thus  we  have  the  spinning -j enny ; 
jimmy  and  hetty  for  burglars'  implements ;  hilly  for  a 
policeman's  club,  or  (in  Australia)  a  bushman's  kettle. 
The  habit  is  essentially  the  same  as  that  of  using  diminu- 
tives for  the  names  of  tools  (see  p.  60),  and  is  near  akin 
to  the  trick  of  personifying  inanimate  objects  by  calling 
them  he  or  she.  A  ship  is  always  she,  and  the  same 
pronoun  is  often  applied  to  a  locomotive  by  the  engineer 
('driver')  who  has  it  in  charge.  A  miller  may  also  use 
she  of  his  mill.^  A  gardener  has  been  known  to  call  his 
favorite  ivy  he.  The  word  jack.,  which  means  '  fellow '  as 
being  the  commonest  of  masculine  diminutives,  has  re- 
ceived a  very  wide  extension.  Sometimes,  as  in  jackass, 
it  simply  implies  the  masculine  gender  ;  usually,  however, 
it  carries  the  meaning  of  strength,  size,   or  coarseness. 

1  Cf.  Phillips  Brooks  in  a  familiar  letter  to  a  friend  describing  the  fire 
in  which  Trinity  Church,  Boston,  was  destroyed  in  1872  :  '  Old  Trinity 
seemed  safe  all  night,  but  towards  morning  the  fire  swept  into  her  rear, 
and  there  was  no  chance.  She  went  at  four  in  the  morning.  I  saw  her 
well  afire  inside  and  out,  carried  off  some  books  and  robes,  and  left  her.' 
A.  V.  G.  Allen,  Life  and  Letters  of  Phillips  Brooks,  1900,  II,  67. 


WORDS  FROM  PLACES  OE  PERSONS  387 

Thus  we  have  jack-knife  for  a  hirge  pocket-knife,  bigger 
than  a  pen-knife  ;  jackscreiv  for  a  very  strong  screw  used 
to  raise  buildings  and  the  like  ;  jackstrmvs,  originally  large 
straws  used  in  playing  a  game  which  is  known  by  the 
same  name.  Compare  such  terms  as  jack-in-the-box,  jack- 
in-the-pidpit,  jackanapes.'^  The  word  jack  is  also  used  alone 
for  certain  kinds  of  implements  and  utensils,  in  particular 
for  a  device  to  raise  the  wheels  of  a  carriage  from  the 
ground  (cf.  boot-jack'),  for  a  leather  coat,  and  for  a  kind 
of  hottle  {black  jack;  cf.  demijohn').'^ 

Demijohn  is  a  corruption  (by  popular  etymology)  of 
the  French  Dame  Jeanne,  apparently  a  jocose  name  for 
a  big  bottle,  like  Toby  for  a  kind  of  beer-mug  shaped  like 
a  stout  man.  Dame  Jeanne  itself  looks  like  a  popular 
etymology  of  something  else  ;  but  all  efforts  to  settle  the 
question  have  been  fruitless.  The  Arabic  damajdna,  which 
appears  to  conduct  us  to  the  Persian  glassworks  at  Dama- 
ghan,  is  thought  to  be  a  modern  borrowing  from  the 
Romance. 

Here  may  be  mentioned  such  jocose  names  as  jack  for 
'fellow';  Jeames  for  'footman';  'Any  for  'a  London 
rough';  Jack  Tar  ov  jacky,  for  'a  seaman';  Bridget  or 
Biddy  for  'an  Irish  maidservant';  zany  (It.  zanni,  for 
Giovanni,  'John')  for  'a  buffoon'  or  '  merry-andrew.' 

The  words  that  we  have  studied  in  this  chapter  illus- 
trate a  considerable  variety  of  linguistic  processes.^  But 
they  are  even  more  significant  as  documents  in  the  history 
of  civilization.     They  cover  the  map  of  the  world  with 

1  With  the  discussion  of  this  word  in  the  Oxford  Dictionary  should  be 
compared  the  remarks  of  IJr.  Scott,  in  Trans.  Amer.  Philol.  Assoc., 
XXIII,  189  ff. 

2  See  p.  Gl,  note  1. 

3  In  particuhxr,  they  enforce  what  was  said  of  the  identity  between 
slang  and  ordinary  language  in  all  essentials  of  linguistic  behavior. 


388  WOBDS  AND   TnEIR    WAYS 

well-marked  dots  and  boundary  lines.  They  pervade  the 
tables  of  the  chronologist  from  the  earliest  times  to  the 
instant  of  writing.  A  single  word,  like  bedlam,  has  stood 
for  thousands  of  years  and  thousands  of  miles.  Bedlam 
(a  clipped  form  of  Bethlehem')  is  now  jocosely  used  for  any 
great  confusion  :  as,  — '  It  was  a  perfect  bedlam  of  dis- 
cordant opinions.'  l^he  generalizing  process  in  this  word 
is  curiously  connected  with  religious  history.  There  was 
in  Palestine  a  religious  establishment  dedicated  to  Saint 
Mary  of  Bethlehem,  that  is,  the  Virgin.  In  early  times,  a 
branch  of  this  establishment  existed  in  London.  Attached 
to  the  church  was  a  hospice  or  house  of  entertainment, 
meant,  in  the  first  instance,  for  the  use  of  members  of  the 
fraternity  who  might  be  temporarily  residing  in  that  city. 
Gradually  the  ecclesiastics  of  this  house  gave  their  atten- 
tion to  a  special  form  of  charity,  —  the  reception  and 
treatment  of  lunatics,  and  Bedlam,  that  is,  'the  London 
hospice  of  Saint  Mary  of  Bethlehem,'  became  an  insane 
asylum.  When  the  violent  measures  of  Henry  VIII 
abolished  so  many  monastic  houses,  this  particular  hospice 
was  given  to  the  city  of  London  and  continued  to  be  used 
as  a  refuge  for  the  insane  under  the  name  of  Bethlehem 
Hospital  or  Bedlam.  Hence  the  word  bedlam  was  applied 
to  any  insane  asylum,  and  from  this  use  its  modern  em- 
ployment for  any  kind  of  tumultuous  assembly  or  any  great 
disturbance  was  easy.  It  is  interesting  to  observe  that 
in  the  history  of  this  word  we  have  involved  the  founding 
of  the  Christian  religion,  the  passing  of  the  Holy  Land 
into  the  control  of  the  Saracens,  the  Crusades,  which 
restored  it  to  Christianity,  the  continued  relations  be- 
tween the  Latin  Orient  and  Western  Europe,  the  whole 
theory  and  practice  of  monOvStic  institutions  and  fraterni- 
ties, with  their  labors  in  behalf  of  the  poor  and  sick,  the 


WOMBS  FROM  PLACES   OR   PERSONS  389 

Reformation  in  general,  and,  in  particular,  the  Reforma- 
tion in  England  under  Henry  VIII,  with  its  confusion  of 
religious  and  secular  motives.  Incidentally,  this  involves 
the  personal  history  of  Henry  VIII,  and,  in  particular, 
his  quarrel  with  the  Pope  over  the  question  of  his  divorce 
from  Katharine  of  Aragon  and  his  marriage  to  Anne  Boleyn. 
In  other  Avords,  the  history  of  the  single  word  bedlam  cannot 
be  completely  understood  without  some  knowledge  of  the 
history  of  Europe  and  Asia  for  more  than  fifteen  hundred 
years.  It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  more  striking  instance 
of  the  absurdity  of  regarding  the  study  of  words  as  a 
narrow^  and  trivial  diversion  of  pedants.  Words  are  the 
signs  of  thoughts  and  thoughts  make  history. 


APPENDIX 

P,  6.  We  have  said  that  the  origin  of  language  is  undiscov- 
erable.  If,  however,  philologists  ever  do  solve  the  great  prob- 
lem, we  may  conjecture  that  natural  cries  (natural  in  the  same 
sense  in  which  kicking  and  working  the  fingers  are  natural), 
common  alike  to  men  and  the  higher  animals,  each  after  its 
kind,  will  be  found  to  be  the  material,  and  that  the  alternate 
building-up  and  breaking-down  of  words  (the  eternal  systole 
and  diastole  of  speech)  will  be  found  to  be  the  means,  of  the 
growth  which  has  produced  as  well  the  root-system  of  the  Indo- 
European  (with  its  puzzling  determinatives),  as  the  Semitic 
triliteralism,  the  elements  of  aggregative  languages,  and  the 
extreme  complexity  of  Chinese  monosyllables.  Such  a  theory 
would  probably  be  nicknamed  the  '  goo-goo  theory.'  All  that 
is  requisite  for  the  beginning  of  language  proper  is  that  any 
one  sound  should  come  to  be  purposely  uttered,  however 
vaguely,  and  actually  understood,  and  we  have  the  promise 
and  potentiality  of  the  most  cultivated  human  speech.  The 
initial  understanding,  indeed,  may  perhaps  come  from  the  lis- 
tener and  be  reflected  back  to  the  person  who  utters  the  sound. 
When  the  first  step  has  been  taken,  the  processes  which  we 
see  going  on  around  us  every  day  will  do  the  rest.  The  '  goo- 
goo  theory'  includes  all  that  can  be  true  in  the  'ding-dong 
theory ' ;  for  it  is  only  in  such  natural  cries,  produced  by  the 
mere  purposeless  activity  of  the  vocal  organs,  that  it  can  justly 
be  said  that  '  everything  that  is  struck,  rings.'  It  covers  the 
ground  of  the  'bow-wow  theory,'  since  it  admits  the  possibility 
of  imitation,  holding,  indeed,  that  the  natural  cries  referred  to 
are  the  only  sounds  in  language  that  are  not  imitative.    It  also 

391 


392  APPENDIX 

includes  the  '  pooh-pooh  theory,'  since  the  cries  in  question  are 
the  only  interjections  that  are  actually  spontaneous  and  do 
not  like  j^ooh !  and  hah !  require  to  be  learned,  like  other  words. 
The 'goo-goo  theory'  meets  alike  the  views  of  a  Sayce,  who 
finds  in  language  a  progress  of  decay,  and  a  Brugmann,  who 
finds  in  it  a  progress  of  growth. 

A  readable  account  of  various  theories  of  the  origin  of  lan- 
guage may  be  found  in  A.  H.  Sayce,  Introduction  to  the  Science 
of  Language  (2  vols.,  Lond.,  1880),  Chap.  I.  See  also  Max 
Miiller,  Lectures  on  the  Science  of  Language  (2  vols.,  Lond., 
1861-4;  revised  edition,  N.Y.,  1891);  Whitney,  Language 
and  the  Study  of  Language  (5th  ed.,  N.Y.  [1875]);  Whitney, 
The  Science  of  Language,  in  his  Oriental  and  Linguistic 
Studies  (N.Y.,  1873);  Whitney,  Max  Miiller  and  the  Science 
of  Language  (N.Y.,  1892).  On  language  in  general  see  H.  Paul, 
Priucipien  der  Sprachgeschichte  (3d  ed.,  Halle,  1898),  translated 
from  the  2d  edition  by  H.  A.  Strong,  Principles  of  the  History 
of  Language  (N.Y.,  1889);  Strong,  Logeman,  and  Wheeler, 
Introduction  to  the  Study  of  the  History  of  Language  (Lond., 
1891). 

Pp.  34  ff.  A  useful  handbook  of  philosophical  terms  is 
R.  Eisler's  Worterbuch  der  Philosophischen  Begriffe  und  Aus- 
driicke,  quellenmassig  bearbeitet  (Berlin,  1899). 

P.  48.  For  biblical  words  see  J.  Eastwood  and  W.  Aldis 
Wright,  The  Bible  Word-Book  (Loud.,  1866). 

P.  54.  On  women's  languages  see  Crawley,  Journal  of  the 
Anthropological  Institute,  XXIV,  233-5. 

Pp.  55  ff.  Among  collections  of  English  slang  may  be  men- 
tioned John  Camden  Hotten's  Slang  Dictionary  (new  ed., 
Lond.  [1874]) ;  Barrere  and  Leland's  Dictionary  of  Slang, 
Jargon,  and  Cant  (2  vols.,  1889-90);  Farmer  and  Henley's 
Slang  and  its  Analogues  (4  vols.,  A-MYZ,  Lond.,  1890-6); 
H.  Baumann's  Londonismen,  Slang  und  Cant  (Berlin,  1887). 
The  ordinary  large  dictionaries  also  contain  a  considerable 
number  of  slang  words. 


APPENDIX  393 

P.  80.  On  the  development  of  the  literary  language  see 
Lounsbury,  History  of  the  English  Language  (revised  ed.,  N.Y., 
1894) ;  0.  F.  Emerson,  History  of  the  English  Language  (N.Y., 
1894);  Skeat,  Principles  of  English  Etymology,  First  Series 
(Oxford,  1887) ;  Kluge,  Geschichte  der  englischen  Sprache,  in 
Paul's  Grundriss  der  germanischen  Philologie,  Vol.  L 

On  dialects  see  the  publications  of  the  English  Dialect 
Society,  and  the  great  English  Dialect  Dictionary,  edited  by 
Joseph  Wright.  Cf.  Sheldon,  '  What  is  a  Dialect  ? '  in  Dialect 
Notes,  published  by  the  American  Dialect  Society,  I,  286  ff. 
The  modern  English  dialects  have  been  classified  by  A.  J.  Ellis 
in  Part  V  of  his  Early  English  Pronunciation  (Lond.,  1889).  A 
minute  study  of  a  single  dialect  is  Joseph  Wright's  Grammar 
of  the  Dialect  of  Windhill  in  the  West  Riding  of  Yorkshire 
(Lond.,  1892).  For  Scottish  see  Murray,  Dialect  of  the  South- 
ern Counties  of  Scotland  (Lond.,  1873) ;  Jamieson,  Dictionary 
of  the  Scottish  Language  (5  vols..  Paisley,  1879-87). 

P.  81.  There  is  no  satisfactory  treatment  of  '  American 
English.'  Material  may  be  found  in  Bartlett,  Dictionary  of 
Americanisms  (N.Y.,  1848;  4th  ed.,  Boston,  1877);  Scheie  de 
Vere,  Americanisms,  the  English  of  the  New  World  (2d  ed., 
N.Y.,  1872) ;  J.  S.  Farmer,  Americanisms  Old  and  New  (Lond., 
1889) ;  the  publications  of  the  American  Dialect  Society  and 
the  Modern  Language  Association  of  America.  For  bib- 
liography, see  Dialect  Notes  (published  by  the  American 
Dialect  Society),  Vol.  I.  On  the  history  of  American  pronun- 
ciation, see  especially  Grandgent,  From  Franklin  to  Lowell, 
a  Century  of  New  England  Pronunciation,  in  the  Publica- 
tions of  the  Modern  Language  Association  of  America,  XIV, 
207  ff.  On  Australian  English,  see  E.  E.  Morris,  Austral 
English  :  a  Dictionary  of  Australasian  Words,  Phrases,  and 
Usages  (Lond.,  1898),  and  J.  Lake,  Dictionary  of  Australasian 
Words  and  Phrases  (in  the  Australasian  Supplement  to 
Webster's  International  Dictionary).  On  Anglo-Indian,  see 
Colonel  Henry  Yule  and  A.   C.   Buruell,  Hobson-Jobson;  be- 


394  APPENDIX 

ing  a  glossary  of  Anglo-Indian  Colloquial  Words  and  Phrases 
(Lond.,  1886). 

Pp.  93  ff.  The  Latin  contingent  in  Anglo-Saxon  has  been 
studied  by  A.  Pogatscher  in  a  very  distinguished  monograph : 
Zur  Lautlehre  der  griechischen,  lateinischen  und  romanischen 
Lehnworte  ini  Altenglischen  (Strassburg,  1888),  Quellen  und 
Forschungen,  No.  64.  See  also  Sievers,  Zum  angelsachsischen 
Vocalismus  (Leipzig,  1900),  where  different  grades  of  '  popu- 
larity '  in  words  are  discriminated  with  great  subtlety. 

P.  107.  For  Old  Norse  words  in  English,  see  Kluge  in 
Paul's  Grundriss  der  germanischen  Philologie,  I,  785  ff. ;  Skeat, 
Principles  of  English  Etymology,  I,  453  ff . ;  E,  Bjork- 
man,  Scandinavian  Loan-Words  in  Middle  English  (Halle, 
1900). 

Pp.  108-9.  On  these  miscellaneous  borrowings,  see  Skeat's 
Principles  of  English  Etymology,  II,  342  ff.,  and  compare  the 
lists  in  the  revised  edition  of  the  same  scholar's  Concise  Ety- 
mological Dictionary  (Oxford,  1901). 

P.  114,  note.  See  also  Kellner,  Abwechslung  und  Tautolo- 
gie :  zwei'Eigenthumlichkeiten  des  alt-  und  mittelenglischen 
Stiles,  in  Englische  Studien,  XX,  1  ff.  (1894). 

P.  116.  Love  allegory.  See  W.  A.  Neilson,  The  Origins 
and  Sources  of  the  Court  of  Love,  in  Studies  and  Notes  in 
Philology  and  Literature,  V  (Boston,  1899). 

P.  117.  On  Euphuism,  see  Landmann's  edition  of  Lyly's 
Euphues  (Heilbronn,  1887) ;  the  same  author's  Shakspere 
and  Euphuism,  in  the  Transactions  of  the  New  Shakspere 
Society  for  1880-5,  Pt.  II,  pp.  241  ff.  ;  and  especially  C.  G. 
Child's  monograph,  John  Lyly  and  Euphuism  (Erlangen, 
1894). 

P.  123.  Romantic  revival.  See  W.  L.  Phelps,  The  Begin- 
nings of  the  English  Eomantic  Movement  (Boston,  1893). 

Pp.  183-4.  On  decay  of  inflection  as  an  improvement,  see 
0.  Jespersen,  Progress  in  Language,  with  Especial  Reference  to 
English  (Lond.,  1894), 


APPENDIX  395 

Pp.  185  ff.  For  details  with  regard  to  prefixes  and  suffixes, 
see  Haldeman,  Affixes  in  their  Origin  and  Application  (Phila., 
1871);  Skeat,  Principles  of  English  Etymology;  Sweet,  New 
English  Grammar,  Pt.  I  (Oxford,  1892). 

P.  219.  On  the  conventional  character  of  words,  see  espe- 
cially Whitney's  Language  and  the  Study  of  Language. 

Pp.  219  ff.  On  semasiology  or  '  the  science  of  meanings,'  see 
A.  Darmesteter,  La  Vie  des  Mots,  2d  ed.  (Paris,  1887),  and  M. 
Breal,  Essai  de  Semantique  (Paris,  1897).  Breal's  book  has 
been  translated  by  Mrs.  Henry  Gust,  Semantics,  Studies  in  the 
Science  of  Meaning  (Lond.,  1900).  Cf.  also  Hey,  Die  Semasi- 
ologie,  in  Archiv  f ilr  lateinische  Lexicographic,  IX,  19o  ff. 

P.  228.  On  the  magic  power  of  the  name,  see  Child,  English 
and  Scottish  Popular  Ballads,  Index  of  Matters,  under  'Nam- 
ing'; K.  Nyrop,  Navnets  Magt  (Copenhagen,  1887). 

P.  297.  National  nicknames.  There  is  an  interesting  list 
in  Notes  and  Queries,  9th  series,  IV,  212-4. 

P.  301.  Australian  aborigines.  See  W.  E.  Roth,  Ethnologi- 
cal Studies  among  the  North-West-Central  Queensland  Abori- 
gines (Brisbane,  1897),  p.  184. 

P.  304.  On  disguised  and  distorted  oaths,  see  A.  E.  H. 
Swaen,  Figures  of  Imprecation,  in  Englische  Studien,  XXIV, 
16ff.,  195ff. 

P.  330.  On  folk-etymology,  see  K.  G.  Andresen,  Ueber 
deutsche  Volksetymologie  (6th  ed.,  Leipzig,  1899).  Much 
valuable  material  for  English  is  collected  by  the  Rev.  A. 
Smythe  Palmer  in  his  Folk-Etymology  (Lond.,  1882),  but  the 
author's  derivations  are  not  always  to  be  trusted. 

P.  345.  Doublets  are  treated  by  Skeat,  Principles  of  Eng- 
lish Etymology,  I,  414  ff.  The  largest  collection  is  Sheldon's, 
in  his  etymologies  in  Webster's  International  Dictionary, 

P.  357.  There  is  a  long  list  of  homonyms  in  Skeat's  Etymo- 
logical Dictionary. 

P.  3G1.  On  primitive  ideas  with  regard  to  animals,  see  Tylor's 
chapter  on  Animism,  in  his  Primitive  Culture,  Vol.  I. 


396  APPENDIX 

P.  370.  On  fables,  etc.,  see  Jacobs,  History  of  the  ^sopic 
Fable,  Vol.  I  of  liis  edition  of  Caxton's  ^sop  (Lond.,  1889) ; 
Kittredge,  Beast-Fables,  in  Johnson's  Universal  Cyclopsedia, 
I,  545-8. 

P.  378.  On  Lydford  Law,  see  S.  Eowe,  Perambulation  of 
Dartmoor,  3d  ed.  (1896),  pp.  423  ff. 


INDEX   OF  MATTERS 


Abbreviations,  Latin,  104  f.,  140. 

Ablative  absolute,  104  n.;  degree  of 
difference,  20'2. 

Abrasion,  ISOff. 

Abstract  and  concrete,  2oG  ff. 

Abusive  language,  3()4. 

Academic  terms,  287. 

Accent,  variable,  355  f . ;  of  dissyl- 
labic adjectives,  356. 

Accountants'  terms,  102. 

Accusative  as  adverb,  195. 

Address,  terms  of,  .322  ff. 

Adjective  stem-forms,  174  f. 

Adjectives,  185  f. ;  in  -ly,  15;  in 
slang,  73;  adverbs  from,  17'J,  198  f. ; 
as  adverbs,  199;  become  nouns,  253  ff., 
382  n.,  384  f. ;  transference  of  meaning 
274 ff.,  282  f.;  participles  in  -en  as, 
203;  of  material  in  -en,  203;  dis- 
syllabic, accent  of,  35G;  from  names 
of  animals,  3f)5;  from  proper  names, 
37(;  f.,  379,  382  ;  ellipsis  of,  252  f.,  265  ff. 
See  Degree,  words  of;  Comparison. 

Adverbs,  in  -e.y,  19()  ff. ;  in  -p,  198  ff. ; 
in -0,198;  without  ending,  198  ff. :  in 
-ly,  199;  case-forms  as,  182, 195  ff. ;  as 
prefixes,  188;  with  copula,  238 n.  See 
Words  of  Degree. 

.(Elian,  368. 

^sopic  fable,  370. 

AfMxmation,  words  of,  310  f. 

Alaska,  79  n. 

Alchemical  terms,  108,  350,  384. 

Alfred,  King,  83. 

Allegory  of  love,  116. 

Allusion,  literary.  111. 

Amber,  294. 

Americanisms  and  American  usage, 
13n.,  58,  61  n.,  <;5,  66.  71,  l.'SO,  134,  1.".6, 
138  f.,  140  f.,  144,  165  f.,  207,  214,  244, 


255,  268  n.,  271,  280,  297,  299,  310, 
318  ff.,  .321  f.,  331,  .340,  347,  3,51,  355, 
356  f.,  362  n.,  365,  366,  374,  378  f. 

Analogy,  343  f. 

Andrewes,  Bishop,  104 n. 

Angles,  82. 

Anglo-Saxon,  its  relations,  dialects, 
and  development,  81  ff.,  163;  borrow- 
ings from  Latin,  43ff.,93ff. ;  ecclesi- 
astical words,  43  ff.;  inflection,  182  f., 
195  ff.,  201  f.,  343  f.;  words  replaced 
by  foreign  words,  25 ;  style,  82,  84, 
113  f. ;  poetry,  82,  84;  culture,  84,  137. 

Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle,  145,  341. 

Anglo-Saxon  Conquest,  81  f.,  145. 

Anglo-Saxons,  conversion  of,  43, 
349  f. 

Animal  names,  336,  339,  352;  used 
figuratively  for  human  qualities,  etc., 
361  ff. ;  beliefs  of  savages  with  regard 
to  animals,  361  f . ;  nursery  tales  and 
fables,  362;  popular  comparisons,  362; 
metaphors,  3()2f. ;  surnames,  363; 
verbs  of  this  class,  365;  tools,  etc., 
366 f.;  idiomatic  phrases,  .367  f.;  fan- 
tastic science,  368 ff.;  Physiologus, 
368;  Uncle  Remus,  370;  ^sopic  fable. 
370 ;  primitive  nature  of  these  con- 
ceptions, .371. 

Animals,  speech  of,  3;  reason  as- 
cribed to,  362 ;  words  from  the  names 
of  (Chap.  XXIV),  361  ff. 

Aujou,  Counts  of,  86. 

Antithesis,  16. 

Antonomasia,  16. 

Aphetic  forms,  63  f . 

Approval  and  disapproval,  terms 
of,  .313  f. 

Arabic,  in  medicine,   etc.,  45.  108; 
i  other  words,  57,  108,  128,  380,  387. 
97 


398 


INDEX  OF  MATTERS 


Archaisms,  in  poetry,  2G;  mistaken, 
in  Spenser  and  elsewhere,  118  f.;  mis- 
taken or  mauufactured,  118 f.  See 
Obsolete. 

Architecture,  214,  350. 

Areopagus,  118  u. 

Argot,  o.")n. 

Ariaus,  15()  f . 

Aristotle,  34ff.,  4Gf.,  3G8. 

Armor,  153. 

Art,  dialect  of,  42  ff.,  51  £. ;  Italian 
in,51f.,  242. 

Article,  confused  witli  following 
word,  197  f.;  Arabic  in  English,  108. 

Aryans,  home  of,  IGl. 

Ascent  of  words,  295  f. 

Ascham,  Roger,  57,  100. 

Ash,  lexicographer,  338. 

Assimilation  of  sounds,  132. 

Associations  of  words,  224  ff . ;  con- 
stantly shifting,  225.  See  Degenera- 
tion ;  Euplieraism ;  Hyperbole. 

Astrology,  words  from,  31,  33 f., 
282. 

Astronomy,  376. 

Athens,  37. 

Augural  terms,  359. 

Aulus  Gellius,  232. 

Australian  words,  49,  50,  7G,  109, 
141,  .305,  331,  332  n.,  380;  aborigines, 
109,  301. 

Baboo  English,  226. 

Baby  talk,  44  (papa),  Gl,  G3,  298. 
See  Pet  names ;  Diminutives. 

Bacon,  Lord,  115,  244,  381. 

Ball,  John,  89. 

Ball  play,  5(if.,  59. 

Banking,  from  Italy,  351  f . 

Base-ball,  59. 

Basque,  59. 

Beast  epic,  370. 

Beast  tales,  362,  370. 

Becoming,  words  for,  233. 

Bede,  Venerable,  83, 113. 

Beresarks,  228. 

Bible,  44,  48,  57,  108,  152,  237,  258, 
311,  317,  351,  369  f.,  374  f.,  376,  385. 

Birds,  names  of,  129  f.,  340  f.;  as 
synonyms  for  stupidity,  3G3  f . 


Black  Death,  88. 

Boccaccio,  89,  363  n. 

Body,  parts  of,  304  f. 

Boers,  112,  347. 

Book  of  Common  Prayer,  114. 

Borrowed  words  distinguished  from 
cognates  (Chap.  XII),  159  ff. 

Borrowing,  9  ;  learned  words,  21  ff. ; 
from  French  and  Latin,  22  ff.,  29ff., 
43 ff.,  85ff.,93ff.,  117f.;  from  Greek, 
23  ff.,  29  ff.,  44  ff.;  from  Celtic,  lOGf. ; 
from  Scandinavian,  107  ;  from  Arabic, 
45,  lOS;  from  Hebrew,  108;  from  Ital- 
ian, 51  f. ;  from  Spanish,  58,  107  f., 
112;  from  miscellaneous  sources, 
108 f.;  from  Dutch  and  Low  German, 
108  f.,  112;  complexity  of  our  vocabu- 
lary, 128  ff. ;  unity  of  our  vocabulary, 
147  ff.  ;  cognates  and  borrowed  words, 
159  ff. ;  successive,  of  same  word,  350. 

Botany,  384.     See  Plants,  names  of. 

Bowling,  56. 

Bow-wow  theory.  See  Origin  of 
language. 

Britain,  Anglo-Saxon  conquest  of, 
81  f. 

Brooks,  Phillips,  386  n. 

Browne,  'William,  378. 

Building,  figures  from,  56. 

Burns,  58. 

Business  terms,  13,  42 ff.,  59,  GGn., 
102,  287,  351  f. 

Butler,  Samuel,  36, 147. 

Byron,  375,  384  n. 

Cabal,  the,  68. 

Citidmon,  83. 

Cresar,  227,  372  f . 

Campion,  Thomas,  333  u. 

Canada,  68  n. 

Card  playing,  347. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  127,  381  n. 

Cases,  names  of,  13;  and  preposi- 
tions, subjective  and  oljjective,  274. 

Catachresis,  16. 

Catechism,  69 n. 

Causative  verbs,  281. 

Celtic.  106  f.,  142  n.,  153,  161. 

Celts,  130,  142;  Latin  words  adopted 
by,  83. 


INDEX   OF  MATTERS 


399 


Centlivre,  Mrs.,  375. 

Central  French,  its  relations  to 
English,  86  f. 

Charles  II,  08. 

Charms  and  incantations,  228  f . 

Chaucer,  22,  27,  Go,  94,  90,  118,  150, 
189,  196,  206,  214,  253,  267,  28S,  2!)2u., 
297,  313 n.,  327,  342,  348,  349,  304 n., 
368,  369  n.,  370,  373,  377;  his  relations 
to  English,  88  iT. ;  character  of  his  cen- 
tury, 88  ff. ;  his  career,  tK) ;  his  dialect 
88 ff.,  92n.,  203;  his  inflections,  182f., 
198,  202. 

Chaucerisms  in  the  Elizabethans, 
118. 

Chemistry,  108,  350;  Arabic  in,  108. 

Child,  F.  J.,  119 n. 

Children's  language,  29, 44, 61,  03, 243. 

Chinese,  109. 

Choice  of  words,  27,  52,  70 ff.,  328; 
neologisms,  78. 

Christianity,  71,  244,  349ff.,  3SSf.; 
conversion  of  the  Germans,  150  ff. ;  of 
the  Anglo-Saxons,  43,  349.  See  Bible ; 
Religious. 

Church.  See  Arians;  Christianity; 
Religious. 

Cicero,  36  f.,  39,  232. 

Civilization  and  language,  41,  93  ff., 
108  f.,  128  ff.,  144  ff.,  147  ff.,  156  ff., 
183  f.,  230  ff.,  242,  246,  286,  287,  290  f., 
295f.,  300  ff.,  304.  317  ff.,  348ff.,  357  ff., 
300 ff.,  372 ff.,  387 ff.;  and  inflection, 
183  f. 

Class  dialects  (Chap.  V),42ff.,  53 f. 

Clerical  language.     See  Religious. 

Clipped  words  in  slang  and  in  legiti- 
mate speech,  01  ff.,  385 ;  phrases,  70ff., 
252  ff. 

Clothing,  44, 152, 153, 190,  304  f,,  338, 
383. 

Cnut,  144. 

Coaching,  271. 

Cock-fighting,  57. 

Cognates  and  borrowed  words  (Chap. 
XII),  159 ff.,  .345. 

Coinage,  49,  89, 140  f . 

Coleridge,  320. 

Colloquial  language,  25  n.,  28,  02  ff., 
74,  99,   102,  lllf.,  149,  189,  202,  225, 


238 n.,  297,  304,  300,  302 ff.;  ironical, 
221  f.    See  Slang;  Fashion  ;  Hyperbole. ' 

Colonization,  108  f. 

Comedy  of  humors,  33. 

Commerce,  287.    See  Business. 

Comparative  grammar,  159ff.,  165f. ; 
its  limitations,  105  f. 

Comparison  of  adjectives  and  ad- 
verbs, 199  ff.;  double  comparison,  17, 
200  f.;  terminations  multiplied,  17  n.; 
folk-etymology  in,  200,  342  f. 

Comparisons,  popular,  to  animals, 
362. 

Complexity  of  the  English  vocabu- 
lary (Chap.  X),  128  ff. 

Composition,  108 ff.;  of  roots  and 
stems,  108  ff.;  of  words,  177,  179f., 
185 ff.,  294;  endings,  derivation  of, 
185 ff.;  origin  and  history  of,  185 ff.; 
living  suffixes,  180 ;  prefixes,  187 ;  ad- 
verbial prefixes  in  verbs,  188;  vague 
syntax  of  composition,  120,  172  ff.  See 
Phrase-corn  posi  t  ion . 

Compound  words,  177  ff. ;  disguised, 
152,  210;  hybrid,  154;  obsolete" words 
in,  210ff. ;  obscured  compounds  felt 
as  simple  words,  210  f . ;  variety  of 
meaning,  274;  Elizabethan,  274. 

Congregationalism  in  New  England, 
121. 

Connotations  of  words,  224  ff.  See 
Degeneration;  Euphemism;  Hyperbole. 

Conservatism  in  language,  77  f . 

Constructions,  old,  survival  in  a  few 
phrases,  204  ff. 

Contempt,  words  of,  284  ff. 

Conventional  character  of  language 
(Chap.  XVI),  21 9 ff.,  73. 

Cooper,  F.  T.,61n. 

Copula,  2.38. 

Correctness  of  style  and  grammar, 
122  f. 

Corruption  by  folk-etymology,  330  ff . 
See  Analogy. 

Cotgrave,  67. 

Courtesy,  mediaeval  conception  of, 
284,  .327 ;  in  language,  310  f . ;  euphem- 
ism in,  304  ff. ;  in  titles,  322  ff. ;  hyper- 
bole in,  311,  317  ff.,  322  ff. 

Covent  Garden,  244. 


400 


INDEX  OF  MATTERS 


Creech,  67. 

Criticism,  literary,   14  ff.,  40 f.,  76. 
See  Choice  of  words ;  literature. 
Cromwell,  100. 
Cross  iutluences,  194,  'MO. 
Crusades,  388. 
Currency.     See  Money. 

Danes  in  England,  107,  144  f. 

Darmesteter,  A.,  2G0n.,  2(;5n. 

Dartmoor,  stannary  and  forestry 
courts,  378 f. 

Dative,  singular,  195,  201;  plural, 
195;  as  adverb,  195. 

Death,  euphemisms  for,  300,  302. 

Decay  of  inflections,  85,  181  ff.,  195, 
201 ,  205. 

Declension,  Anglo-Saxon,  195  ff.,  201, 
343  f. 

Degeneration  of  meaning  (Chap. 
XX) ,  284  ff . ;  due  to  euphemism,  307  f. 
See  Hyperbole. 

Degree,  words  of,  312  ff. 

Democracy  in  language,  322  ff . 

Demons,  152. 

Derivation  and  composition  (Chap. 
XIV),  185  ff. 

Derivative  endings,  174  ff.,  185  ff., 
201  f .  See  Composition  ;  Inflection  ; 
Comparison ;  Diminutives. 

Development  of  words,  I.  Roots, 
stems,  and  inflections  (Chap.  XIII), 
lG8ff. ;  II.  derivation  and  composition 
(Chap.  XIV),  185 If. 

Dialect,  distinguished  from  literary 
language,  80  f . ;  of  Chaucer,  88  ff . ,  203 ; 
of  modern  English,  92,  203;  dialectic 
variations  in  English,  354;  dialect  and 
provincial  words,  13 n.,  61  n.,  128,  132, 
139  n.,  149, 188  n.,  203,  304 ;  in  slang,  58. 
See  Americanisms;  Australian. 

Dickens,  .375,  .382. 

Digest,  the  Roman,  222. 

Dignity  of  words,  354.  See  Associa- 
tions. 

Diminutives,  136  n.,  137;  as  names 
of  familiar  objects  or  tools,  60  f.,  386  f. 

Ding-dong  theory.  See  Origin  of 
language. 

Diseases,  31,  384. 


Disgui.sed  oaths,  .34 n.,  .304. 

Diversity  of  the  English  vocabulary, 
128  ff. 

Divinity.    See  Religious. 

Docked  words.    <S'ee  Clipped  forms. 

Dog-Latin,  51. 

Double  comparison,  17. 

Double  negative,  220,  312. 

Doublets  and  homonyms  (Chap. 
XXIV),  345 ff.,  44. 

Dutch,  81,  83,  109,  149,  153 ff.,  160, 
163,  227,  348,  350,  360,  370,  383;  in 
South  Africa,  112,  347. 

Dwelling  places,  142  ff.,  319 f. 

Eastern  question,  89. 

East  Germanic  tribes,  1.56. 

Ecclesiastical  words  in  Anglo-Saxon , 
42ff.,93.     See  Religious. 

Edward  HI,  89. 

Electrical  terms,  384. 

Electricity,  293  f. 

Elizabeth,  Queen,  100. 

Elizabethan  style  and  language, 
116 ff.  See  Euphemism;  Shakspere; 
Spenser. 

Ellipsis,  in  thought  or  expression, 
2.52  ff . 

Emerson,  O.  F.,  114  n. 

Enipedocles,  his  four  elements,  36. 

Endings,  derivative.  See  Deriva- 
tive. 

English,  Old.     See  Anglo-Saxon. 

English  language,  history  of,  80  ff. ; 
its  place  in  the  Indo-European  family, 
163.    See  Language. 

English  vocabulary,  extent  and  va- 
riety of,  7ff.,  108 f.,  128 ff.;  learned 
and  popular  words  in,  19  ff. ;  technical, 
42  ff . ;  place  of  slang  and  colloquialism 
in,  ::5  ff'. ;  sources  of,  80  ff.,  93  ff .,  128  ff., 
147  ff.;  fashion,  110  ff.;  unity  of, 
147 ff.;  fossils  in,  193 ff.;  euphemism, 
300 ff.;  hyperbole,  309 ff.;  doublets, 
345  ff; ;  homonyms,  357  ff. ;  words 
from  names  of  animals,  3(;iff.;  from 
proper  names,  372  ff.  See  Words ; 
Meaning. 

Epithets,  transference  of,  275  ff. ;  in- 
discriminate, 314  f. 


INDEX   OF  MATTERS 


401 


Etymology,  false,  its  effect  on  words, 
227;  Stoic  etymological  doctrines, 
229  f.    See  Folk-etymology. 

Etymon,  Stoic,  230. 

Euphemism  (Chap.  XXI),  300  ff.; 
decency  and  propriety,  300  f . ;  origins 
of  decency  in  langnage,  300;  found 
among  savages,  301 ;  avoidance  of 
ill-omened  words,  .301  ff . ;  death  and 
disaster,  302  f.;  profane  language, 
304;  courteous  euphemisms,  305; 
scientific  terms  used  euphemistically, 
306;  degeneration  of  words  from 
euphemism,  307 f.;    litotes,  17. 

Euphuism,  117  ;  animal  similes,  .3G1, 
369. 

Evocation,  formula  of,  229. 

Exaggeration.     See  Hyperbole. 

Execution  of  criminals,  293. 

Existence,  verbs  of,  237  ff. 

Fables  and  beast-tales,  .3(52,  370. 

Fading  of  meaning,  235  ff . ;  because 
of  hyperbole,  309 ff. 

Falstaff,  (>7,  210. 

Family  names,  .361 ;  from  obsolete 
nouns,  209  fT. 

Farming,  language  of,  42,  284  f. 

Fashion,  in  language  (Chap.  IX), 
110  ff. ;  in  literature  and  common 
talk,  110  f . ;  literary  allusion  and 
quotation.  111;  school,  university, 
and  profession,  112;  influenced  by 
special  events,  112;  by  di.scovery, 
invention,  etc.,  112  f.;  Anglo-Saxon 
tautology,  113  f.;  similar  double 
phrases  in  more  modern  Englisli, 
114  f.;  allegory  of  love,  110;  man- 
nerism in  the  Elizabethan  age, 
IKiff. ;  Euphuism,  117;  ink-horn 
terms,  117  f.;  archaisms,  118  f.;  pun- 
ning, 119  f.;  freedom  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan age,  120;  Puritanism,  120  f.; 
eighteenth  century,  121  f . ;  Romantic 
Revival,  123;  nineteenth  century, 
124;  permanent  element  in  language, 
121  ff. 

Fawkes,  Guy,  378. 

Feminine  terminations,  204. 

Fencing,  56. 

2d 


Figurative  language,  9ff. ;  negative, 
.311  f. 

Figures  of  speech,  14  ff . 

Finance,  89,  1.39. 

Fire-arms,  244. 

Fishery,  language  of,  42. 

Flemish,  81. 

Fletcher,  J.  B.,  118  n. 

Folk-etymology  (Chap.  XXIII), 
330  ff.;  69,  150,  207,  246  n.,  254  n., 
346,   347,   365. 

Foreign  words,  attempts  to  expel 
them  from  the  vocabulary,  26  f.  See 
Cognates;  Native  words;  Borrowing. 

Forestry,  terms,  339;  courts,  -379. 

Fossils  (Chap.  XV),  193  ff. 

Fourteenth  century,  character  of, 
88  ff. 

Frankish,  Okl,81,  163. 

Frankish  kings,  152. 

French,  Germanic  element  in,  1.30, 
151,  296;  French  words  in  music,  52; 
French  and  Latin,  their  relation  to 
each  other  and  to  English,  94  ff. ; 
Sprachgefiihl,  126. 
French ;  Central 
French. 

Frisian,  81,  163. 

Fruits.    See  Plants,  names  of. 


See     Norman 
French ;       Law 


Gallic  Latin,  9Gf. 

Gamliling  terms,  ,57. 

Garter,  Order  of  the,  .34. 

Gems,  names  of,  136  f.;  properties 
of,  1.37. 

Gerider,  386. 

Genei'alization  and  specialization  of 
meaning  (Cliap.  XVII) ,  234  If. ;  special 
processes  (Chap.  XVIII),  259  ff. 

Genitive,  274,  343;  as  adverb,  195  ff. 

Genius  of  a  language,  125,  147  f. 

Gentility  as  defined  by  Chaucer,  .327. 

German,  its  relation  to  English,  81, 
1.59;  words,  51,  64,  66  f.,  70,  107,  119, 
129  f.,  1.32,  136,  140,  142f.,  1.51  f.,  160, 
189,  197,  199,  204,  208,  210,  214,  230  f., 
24;!,  249,  2.53,  270  n.,  276  n.,  2S0,  2S6, 
289,  290  n.,  290,  .300,  310,  3i;'>,  ,320,  .323, 
.326  n.,  331  f.,  337,  342,  347,  358,  360, 
307,  373. 


402 


INDEX  OF  MATTERS 


Germanic  languages,  IGOf.,  103; 
element  in  French,  see  French. 

Gerry,  Elbridge,  G8. 

Gerund,  Latin,  in  English,  102, 
103  f . 

Gods,  heathen,  become  demons 
under  Christianity,  152. 

Goldsmith,  64. 

Goodel!,  A.  C,  121  n. 

Goo-goo  theory.  See  Origin  of  Lan- 
guage. 

Gothic,  ir)6f.,lGl,  182 ff. 

Gower,  John,  91,  95. 

Grandiloquence.  See  Magnilo- 
quence. 

Greek,  slang  in,  GO,  G7n.;  English 
words  from,  21  ff.,  etc.;  in  the  lan- 
guage of  science,  23;  in  philosophy, 
34 ff.;  in  medicine,  45;  Arabic  words 
from,  108;  idiom  ('might  of  Hei'- 
cules ')  in  English,  257  f . ;  middle  voice, 
279  f.;  religious  ceremonial,  euphem- 
ism in,  301. 

Greek  Church,  15Gff. 

Greenough,  J.  B.,  60  n. 

Guevara,  118. 

Gunpowder  Plot,  378. 

Gypsies,  380. 

Hall,  Fitzedward,  200  n. 

Hamann  on  language,  5. 

Hart,  J.  M.,  114  n. 

Hastings,  Battle  of,  83. 

Haytian,  1.3G,  138. 

Hebrew,  thought  to  be  the  primitive 
tongue,  3;  words  in  English,  68,  108, 
133,  1.37,  l.W. 

Henry  VIII,  .388  f. 

Henry  of  Huntingdon,  .341  n. 

Herder,  on  the  origin  of  language, 
3 ;  on  language  as  poetry,  5. 

High  German.     See  German. 

Hindoo,  59. 

History,  words  illustrative  of,  68f., 
71  f.,  93ff.,  112,  120f.,  128ff.,  144ff., 
1.52  f.;  156  ff.,  288,  348  ff.,  358,  372  ff., 
.387  ff . ;  of  English  language,  see  Eng- 
lish language. 

Hoccleve,  Thomas,  91. 

Homer,  61,  190,  3.73,377. 


Homonyms,  1.39,  345 ff.,  .357  ff. 

Horace,  37,  67  n.,  258. 

Horn,  Romance  of  King,  374. 

Horsemanship,  5G,  .59,  75,  111,  210 f. 

Houses,  names  applied  to,  143  f., 
319  f. 

Hudibras,  36,  147. 

Humor  in  language,  16 f.,  34,  35n., 
40,  48  f.,  51,  55  ff.,  68 f.,  102,  119 ff.,  135, 
141,  211,  224,  230,  255,  298,  .302 n.,  304, 
3U,  313,  .331  f .,  .332,  339,  349,  .354, 362  ff., 
373  ff . ,  378,  386  f .  See  Colloquialisms ; 
Slang. 

Hungarian,  109. 

Hunting  terms,  57,  62,  75,  111,  288. 

Huss,  John,  89. 

Hybrid  words,  68  f.,  105,  108,  129, 
1.33,  135,  153  f.,  166,  293  f.,  331  ff. 

Hyperbole  or  exaggeration  (Chap. 
XXII),  309 ff.;  natural  tendency  of 
speech,  16,  309;  its  causes,  309 ff.;  in 
words  affirmative  and  negative,  310 f. ; 
figurative  negative,  311  f.;  double 
negative,  .312;  exaggeration  in  slang, 
312  f . ;  schoolgirl  dialect,  312  f . ;  words 
and  phrases  of  degree,  312  ff. ;  terms 
of  disapproval,  314;  grandiloquence, 
317  ff .  ^  in  local  names,  318 ;  in  courtesy, 
322  ff . ;  terms  of  courteous  address, 
322  ff. 

Iberian,  153. 

Icelandic.    »S'ee  Old  Norse. 

Idioms,  English,  16. 17,-35  n.,49, 51  ff., 
114  L,  173,  180.  190,  197,  204  ff.,  220 ff., 
227,  235,  237  ff.,  257  f.,  274  f.,  311  f., 
315  f.,  .349,  369  f.,  381;  euphemistic, 
301  ff. ;  from  quotations,  21()f. ;  irony 
in,  222 ;  French,  103, 150,  173,  312,  381 ; 
Greek,  257  f.;  Italian,  173;  Latin,  13, 
102  ff.,  173,  230,  302,  303,  316. 

Imitation  of  the  sounds  of  nature,  3. 

Imitative  words,  16,  155. 

Imperialism,  89. 

India,  76. 

Indians,  North  American,  66. 

Indo-European  family  of  languages, 
161  ff.;  inflection,  181  ff. ;  parent- 
speech,    345. 

Indo-European  migration.  162. 


INDEX  OF  MATTERS 


403 


Infinitive  as  noun,  173  n. ;  active  and 
passive,  274 f. 

Inflection,  development  of,  ISO  If. ; 
English,  182  if. ;  Gotliic,  182  ft". ;  Greek, 
279  f.     See  Anglo-Saxon ;  Verb. 

Ink-horn  terms,  117  f. 

Insanity,  inspiration  and,  290 ;  effect 
of  moon  on,  oi'A;  care  of,  388 f. 

Inspiration  and  madness,  290. 

Instrumental  case,  202. 

Interjectional  theory  of  language, 
3f. 

Interjections,  3f.,  234  f. 

Invocations,  228  f. 

Irish  missionaries,  349. 

Irony,  16,  221  f.,  312. 

Isolation,  195. 

Italian,  58,  (J4,  70,  131,  154  f.,  IGO, 
173, 189,  239, 242,  244,  323  ff.,  340,  351  f., 
355,  366,  374,  387;  literature,  22,  107: 
words  in  art  and  music,  51  f . ;  effect 
on  Elizabethan  style,  118. 

Jacquerie,  89. 
Jargon,  42 ff.,  75. 

Jocose    words    and    phrases.       See 
Humor. 
John  of  Gaunt,  89. 
Johnson,  Dr.,  238,  338. 
Jouson,  Ben,  337. 
Jutes,  82. 

Kentish  dialect,  82. 

Labor  question,  29,  88 f. 

Language,  origin  of,  1  ff.,  391 ;  natu- 
ral rhythm  of,  5 ;  is  poetry,  4 ff .,  11  ff ., 
264 ;  cultivated  and  uncultivated,  19  ff. ; 
technical  and  class  dialects,  42  ff..  Ill ; 
women's,  ,54 ;  slang,  .55  ff . ;  secret,  ,55  n. ; 
conservatism  and  innovation,  7()ff. ; 
literary  language  and  dialect,  HOff. ; 
fashions  in  speech,  110 ff.;  families  of 
languages,  159 ff.;  language  and  i-ace, 
162;  language  of  a  people  given  up, 
162 ;  machinery  of,  KiS  ff. ;  variety  and 
consistency,  128  ff.,  147  ff.,  192 f. ;  petri- 
faction, 195 ff.,  conventional  charac- 
ter, 72  f.,  219  ff . ;  Stoic  theory  of ,  229  ff. ; 
euphemism,  300  ff. ;  hyperbole,  309 ff. ; 


confusion  in  language,  330  ff.  See  also 
Ta})le  of  Contents ;  Choice  of  words ; 
Comparative  grammar ;  Englisli ;  Lit- 
erary language ;  Magic ;  Meaning ; 
Sprachgefiihl ;  Words,  etc. 

Latin,  slang  in,  57,  GO ;  Sprachgefiihl, 
126. 

Latin  in  English  (Chap.  VIII) ,  93  ff. ; 
before  the  Saxon  Conquest,  93 ;  in  the 
Anglo-Saxon  ]3eriod,  93  f. ;  in  the  Mid- 
dle English  period,  94 ff.;  a  second 
vernacular,  94,  100  f.;  French  and 
Latin  borrowings  distinguished,  96 f. ; 
vulgar,  96  f . ;  learned  borrowings, 
98  f . ;  Latin  words  and  phrases  adopted 
without  change,  99  ff . ;  Latin  abbrevia- 
tions, 104  f.;  Roman  numerals,  105. 
See  French. 

Latinization  of  English,  revolt 
against,  27. 

Latin  literature,  22. 

Latin  Orient,  388. 

Law,  Roman,  222. 

Law  French,  45  f.,  .348. 

Law  Latin,  45  f.,  102 f. 

Law  terms,  45  f.,  64,  71,  75,  102  f., 
154,  208L,  212f.,  214,  217u.,  222,  247, 
353. 

Laws  of  sound  change,  163  ff . 

Learned  words  and  popular  words 
(Chap.  Ill) ,  19  ff . ;  learned  words 
often  of  foreign  origin,  21 ;  some- 
times native,  23  ff . ;  learned  words 
become  popular  (Chap.  IV),  29 ff., 
157;  scientific  and  technical,  30  ff. ;  old 
physiology,  30 ff.;  astrology,  33 ff.; 
philosophy,  34 ff.;  technical  or  class 
dialects,  42 ff.;  learned  and  popular 
words  in  French  and  English,  96  ff . ; 
learned  and  popular  terms  affected  by 
euphemism,  .30(). 

Length  of  words,  175  n. 

Letters,  formula'  in,  221. 

Literary  language  (Chap.  VII), 
80  ff.;  distinguished  from  dialects, 
80  f.;  developed  from  a  dialect.  80  f. ; 
history  of  the  development ,  81  ff. 
See  Choice  of  words;  Colloquialism; 
Slang. 

Literature,  poetry   precedes  prose, 


404 


INDEX  OF  MATTERS 


4f.,82;  study  of,  14;  figures  of ,  14  ff. ; 
vocabulary  of,  19  ff. ;  criticism  of,  40; 
slang  gets  into,  55  I'f. ;  technique  of, 
Tfiff. ;  oral,  82,  ;370  ;  Anglo-Saxon, 
82  ff. ;  Middle  English,  84  ff. ;  Chaucer 
and  his  contemporaries  and  successors, 
88  ff . ;  fashion  in  literature,  110  ff . ; 
tendencies  of  Anglo-Saxon,  113;  of 
Middle  Ages,  116  ;  of  Elizabethan  time, 
116  ff. ;  of  seventeenth  century,  120 ff. ; 
of  eighteenth  century,  121  ff. ;  of  ro- 
manticism, 12.3;  of  nineteenth  century, 
124;  beast-epic,  370 ;  fables,  370.  See 
Learned  words ;  Literary  language  ; 
Poetry. 

Lithuanian,  61. 

Litotes,  17. 

Local  names,  hyperbole  in,  318. 

London,  65 f.,  88. 

Louis  XIV,  155. 

Love,  allegory  of,  116. 

Low  German,  81.  109,  140,  163. 

Lumbering,  56,  214  n. 

Lydford,  378  f. 

Lydgate,  John,  91. 

Lyly,  John, 117. 

Machinery  of  language,  9,  168 ff., 
192. 

Macrobius,  229  n. 

Magic,  119,  141  f.,  313;  power  of 
words,  228  f. 

Magnetism,  animal,  385. 

Magniloquence  in  language,  134, 
317  ff . 

Mandrake,  superstition  about,  .340  f. 

Mathematics,  Ai-abic  words,  108. 

Matthews,  Albert,  244  n.,  299  n. 

Meaning, conventional,  219 ff. ;  Stoic 
theory,  229 ff.;  root-moaning,  2.32 f.; 
generalization  and  specialization, 
234 ff.;  radiation,  259 ff.;  the  a  +  b 
process,  265  ff. ;  new  applications, 
269ff. ;  transference,  272  IT. ;  degen- 
eration, 284 ff.;  euphemism,  .300 ff.; 
liypcrbole,  309  ff . ;  affected  by  sup- 
posed etymology,  336  ff . 

Medical  terms,  13,  ,31, 101, 128  f.,  15.3, 
213,  26(;,  .352  f.,  367,  384;  Greek,  45; 
Arabic,  45. 


Mercantile  words.    See  Business. 

Mercian  dialect,  82  tf . 

Mesmer,  385. 

Metamorphosis,  .361  f. 

Metaphor,  Off.,  14;  in  .slang,  55. 

Metonymy,  15. 

Middle  English,  84  ff.,  116,  182f., 
195  ff.     See  Chaucer. 

i\Iiddle  voice,  279  f . 

Midland  dialect,  87  ff. 

Military  terms,  56,  58  f.,  60,61,  63n., 
99,  112,  154,  155,  189,  227,  296,  350,  3(50, 
366 f.,  380. 

Milton,  100, 1.30,  141,  143,  229  n.,  258, 
283,  .376,  .381,  .384. 

Mining,  figures  from,  56. 

Miracle  plays,  67. 

Misfortune,  euphemisms  for,  302  f. 

Moliere,  71,  375. 

Monasticism,  44,  245,  388  f. 

Money,  49,  89,  139  ff . 

Moon,  effect  on  insanity,  364. 

Moore,  Thomas,  355. 

More,  Sir  Thomas,  381. 

Morton,  John,  375. 

Miiller,  Max,  on  origin  of  lan- 
guage, 3. 

Municipal  government,  146. 

Musical  terms,  51  f.,  57  n. 

Mythology,  222,  .326  n. ;  animals  in, 
3(i2. 

Name,  of  person,  used  as  common 
noun,  16,  129L,  141,  372ff. ;  of  dead, 
avoided,  300;  of  persons  or  places  ap- 
plied to  things,  1.54,  255  f. ;  magic 
power  of,  228 f.;  of  God,  distorted  in 
oaths,  34  n.,  .304. 

Names,  family.     See  Family  names. 

Names  of  animals,  birds,  etc.  See 
Animals;  Birds,  etc. 

Nashe,  Thomas,  67. 

Native  and  foreign  words  contrasted 
as  to  popularity,  21  fi. ;  native  words 
driven  out,  25 ff.;  attemiit  to  oust 
foreign  words,  26 ff.;  learned  words 
become  popular,  29  ff. ;  native  word.s 
in  technical  dialects,  42  f.,  48,  49,  51  ; 
borrowing,  85 ff.,  93 ff.;  cognates  and 
borrowed  words,  159  ff . 


INDEX  OF  MATTERS 


405 


Natural  history,  fantastic,  117,  361, 
3G8ff.  See  Animals;  Birds;  Plant 
names. 

Negation,  words  of,  30Gf.,  311  f.; 
affected  by  hyperbole,  311 ;  double 
negative,  220,  312;  figurative  nega- 
tive, 311  f . 

Neologisms,  78. 

New  England  dialect,  165  f.  See 
Dialect. 

New  p]ngland  Puritanism,  121. 

New  York,  293  f. 

Nicknames,  65  f.,  297. 

Nineteenth  Century,  style  and  lan- 
guage, 124. 

Nobility,  titles  of,  144  fif.,  258, 317  ff., 
322  ff.,  348. 

Nobles,  coinage  of,  by  Edward  III, 
89. 

Nominal  stems,  172  ff . 

Norman  Conquest,  22,  83  ff.,  145. 

Norman  French,  in  the  law,  45;  its 
relations  to  English,  85  ff.,  94,  353. 

Norse.     See  Scandinavian. 

North  American  Indian,  109. 1.39. 

Northern  dialect  of  English,  87, 
149. 

Northumbrian,  82 ff.;  the  first  liter- 
ary English,  83 ;  succeeded  by  West 
Saxon,  83;  Scottish  language,  92; 
inrtuence  of  Norman  French,  85  ff;  in- 
Huence  of  Central  French,  8(1;  re- 
lations of  English  and  French  in 
England,  84  ff. ;  East  Midland  becomes 
the  literary  dialect,  88  ff. ;  decadence 
of  French,  86 ff.;  characteristics  of 
Chaucer's  age,  88  ff. 

Noun-stems.   6'ee  Nominal. 

Numerals,  196  ;  Roman,  105. 

Nursery  tales,  animals  in,  362. 

Oaths,  240;  disguised,  ;54n.,  304. 

Obsolete,  native  words  made  so  by 
borrowing,  25,  28;  words  in  poetry, 
2G ;  archaisms  revived,  26,  78  f.,  118  f., 
123 ;  surviving  as  fossils,  195  ff . ;  in  a 
few  phrases,  209  ff . ;  meanings  surviv- 
ing, 212  ff. 

Obsolete  science,  30  ff. 

Occleve.    See  Uoccleve. 


Occuimtions,  names  of,  133  f.;  as 
proper  names,  209. 

Offices,  names  of,  144ff.,  222,  295 f. 
353. 

Old  English.    See  Anglo-Saxon. 

Old  Frankish,  81,  1G3. 

Old  French.     Sec  French. 

Old  High  German  and  French.  See 
French. 

Old  Norse  in  English,  107,  144  f., 
202,  345. 

Old  Saxon,  81,  163. 

Omens,  232,  302. 

Ouomatopo-ia,  3,  16,  155. 

Oral  literature,  82,  370. 

Orient,  names  of  spices  from,  133; 
of  gems,  137 ;  Latin  Orient,  388. 

Origin  of  language,  1  ff. ;  bow-wow 
theory,  3,  6 ;  ding-dong  theorjs  3,  (> ; 
pooh-2)ooh  theory,  3, 6  ;  goo-goo  theory, 
6n.,  391 ;  Stoic  theory,  229 f. 

Oxford,  88. 

Oxymoron,  16. 

Parisian  dialect,  132. 

Parisian  French.  See  Central 
French. 

Parliamentary  formula,  229. 

Parsing  as  a  test  of  correctness, 
206. 

Participles  in  -en,  203. 

Patriarchal  institutions,  146. 

Payne,  John  Howard,  143. 

Peddlers'  French,  55 n. 

Percy,  Bishop,  119. 

Peripatetic  philosophy,  34  ff. 

Periphrasis,  17.    Sec  Euphemism. 

Persian,  109. 

Personal  endings,  180  f.,  182  f. 

Personal  pronouns,  180,  202  f.,  204. 

Personification,  257. 

Persons,  names  of.     See  Names. 

Peterborough  Chronicle,  145,  341. 

Pet  names,  60  f. ,  63,  135,  298  f .,  386 f . 
See  Diminutives. 

Petrarch,  89. 

Petrifaction  in  language,  180.  See 
Fossils. 

Philosophy,  ;!4ff.,  46  ff.,  382. 

Phrase-composition,  35 n.,  50,  70 f., 


40G 


INDEX  OF  HATTERS 


103,  187  ff.,  201,  292  n.,  301,  310,  332, 
350,  352,  367. 

Physiologus,  3(58. 

Physiology,  30 ff.,  129,  213,  293. 

Piracy,  81,  291. 

Place-names,  60,  01,  71,  93,  129,  131, 
l.ifjf.,  140f.,  142n.,  338;  hyperbole  in, 
liO. 

Place.s  aud  persons,  words  from 
(Chap.  XXVI),  372 ff.;  nicknames  or 
serious  technical  terms,  372;  names  of 
persons  used  figuratively,  372  ff. ;  from 
the  Bible,  374:  f. ;  from  the  classics, 
375  f . ;  names  of  places  similarly  used, 
37G;  corruptions  of  such  names,  377; 
verbs  from  proper  names,  377  ff . ;  verbs 
in  -ize,  379;  names  of  tribes  or  nations 
as  common  uouus,  379  f.;  derivatives 
of,  in  special  senses,  380  f.;  fanciful 
names,  381 ;  adjectives  from  proper 
names,  382;  names  of  persons  ap- 
plied to  things,  382  f.;  in  common 
talk,  383  f. ;  in  science,  383  f. ;  articles 
named  from  places  from  which  they 
come,  384 ff.;  diminutives  applied  to 
tools,  386  f. ;  signiticauceof  such  terms 
in  the  history  of  civilization,  387  f. 

Plants,  names  of,  138  f.,  210  u.,  337, 
340 f.,  360,  364 f. 

Plattdeutsch,  81,  109,  163. 

Pleiade,  118  n. 

Pleonasm,  a  universal  tendency  of 
speech,  17.  See  Comparison ;  Tau- 
tology. 

Pliny,  Natural  History,  368. 

Pliny  the  Younger,  54  u. 

Plural,  singular  in  s  mistaken  for, 
132  f.,  139,  343;  irregular,  201  f.;  in 
verbs,  343. 

Plutarch,  .';74. 

Poetical  and  unpoetical  words,  295. 
See  Slang,  55  ff. 

Poetic  faculty,  7  ff.,  176. 

Poetry,  language  is,  4ff.,  7ff.,  176; 
figures  of,  compared  with  ordinary 
language,  9ff'.,  14 ff.;  archaisms  in, 
26,  118  f.,  123;  precedes  prose,  4,  82; 
pathos,  40;  bathos,  40  f. ;  doggerel,  (i5; 
bombast,  67. 

Polish,  109. 


Political  economy,  112  f. 

Political  slang,  68  f.,  112,  362  n., 
365. 

Polynesian  in  English,  109,  360. 

Pooh-pooh  theory.  See  Origin  of 
language. 

Poole,  John,  375. 

Pope,  40. 

Popular  etymology.  See  Folk-ety- 
mology. 

Popular  origin  of  figures  from  ani- 
mals, 361,  371. 

Popular  words  and  learned  words, 
19  ff.     See  Learned  words. 

Portuguese,  108,  160,  325,  346,  348, 
350,  3(53  f. 

Prefixes,  151,  187  f. 

Prepositions,  compounded  with 
verbs,  187  ff . ;  subjective  and  objec- 
tive use,  273  f. 

Primitive  man.     See  Savages. 

Printers'  language,  214. 

Prize-fighting,  56,  75,  353. 

Procrastination  in  language,  292  f. 

Profanity.     See  Oaths. 

Professional  dialects  (Chai).  V), 
42 ff.     /See  Law;  Medicine,  etc. 

Progress  of  language,  183  f.,  344. 

Pronominal  roots,  169  f. 

Pronoun,  demonstrative,  202;  per- 
sonal, 202  f.;  dative  aud  nominative 
confused,  204. 

Pronunciation,  various,  355  f. 

Proper  names  as  common  uouus. 
See  Names. 

Propriety  in  language,  300  f.  See 
Choice  of  words. 

Provencal,  248 n.,  339. 

Proverbs  and  proverbial  phrases,  71, 
214,  216,  367  f . 

Provincial  English.     See  Dialect. 

Psychology  of  primitive  man, 
361. 

Puns,  49,  68  f.,  141,  264,  288  n., 
302  n.,  332;  Elizabethan,  119  ff.  See 
Humor. 

Purism,  77. 

Puritanism,  120  f. 

Purity  iu  language,  76  ff .  See  Choice 
of  words. 


INDEX   OF  MATTERS 


407 


Quotation  as  a  meaus  of  introducing 
words  into  tlie  language,  70  f.,  75  f. : 
idioms  from,  21Gff. 

R,  vocalic,  356. 

Race  and  language,  162. 

Radiation  of  meaning,  259  ff. 

Railroading,  130  f.;  vocabulary  in 
England  and  America,  271. 

Reduplication,  132,  173,  346. 

Reflexive  verbs,  27'Jf. 

Reformation,  8'.),  3<S8f. 

Rehabilitation  of  words,  287. 

Religious  establishments  abolished 
by  Henry  VIII,  388. 

Religious  words,  clerical  language, 
etc.,  33n.,  43 ff.,  45 ff.,  71,  72,  76,  93, 
116,  120  f.,  152,  212,  268  f.,  2!)0,  297,  326, 
349f.,351,353,  388.    6'ee  Bible. 

Repetition  of  synonyms,  113  ff. 

Reproach,  terms  of,  284 ff. 

Restoration  of  Charles  II,  121. 

Revival  of  Learning,  23,  98. 

Reynard  the  Fox,  370. 

Rhetoric,  function  of,  76  f. ;  figures, 
14  ff. 

Rhythm  of  language,  5f. 

Richard  II,  89. 

Richardson,  Samuel,  375. 

Roman  de  la  Rose,  327  n. 

Roman  formula  for  evocation,  229; 
for  silence  at  sacrifice,  302. 

Roman  law,  222. 

Roman  slavery,  323  ff. 

Romance  languages,  160. 

Romances,  381. 

Romans  in  Britain,  93. 

Romantic  revival,  123. 

Rome,  name  kept  secret,  229. 

Root,  growth  of  words  from  a  single, 
12  ff . 

Root-meanings,  220,  232  f. 

Roots,  meanings  of,  12  ff.,  171; 
verbal,  169  ff.;  pronominal,  169  ff.; 
examples,  12 f.,  170 ff.,  175,  177,  223, 
231  n.,  2.38  f.,  3.59;  reduplicated,  173. 

Roots  aiul  stems,  168  If. 

Rowe,  Nicholas,  375. 

Rowlands,  Samuel,  117  f. 

Russian,  161. 


Sacrifice,  302. 

Sailors'  terms.    See  Sea-terms. 

St.  Dominic,  348. 

St.  Isidore,  325. 

St.  Martin,  152. 

St.  Paul,  57 n.,  317. 

San  Domingo,  79. 

Sandwich,  Ear!  of,  256. 

Sanskrit,  161  f.,  286,  339. 

Saracens,  129,  374,  377. 

Satire,  333 n. 

Savages,  eighteenth-century  idea  of, 
5;  superstition  as  to  language,  228; 
euphemism,  300 ff. ;  subject  to  religious 
restrictions,  301 ;  belief  as  to  animals, 
361  f . 

Saxon .  See  Anglo-Saxon ;  Old 
Saxon. 

Scandinavian,  languages,  81,  160, 
163;  words,  107,  140 n.,  144 f.,  150 f., 
160,  202,  207,  209,  236,  287  n.,  291,  311, 
326  n.,  337,  342,  345,  347,  349,  354,  359. 

Scholastic  philosophy,  35  ff.,  46  f. 

Schoolgirl  dialect,  16,  312  ff. 

Schoolmen's  Latin,  35  ff.,  46 f. 

Science,  terms  of,  29 ff.,  49 ff.,  112 f., 
203n.,234,294,  383 f. 

Scott,  C.  P.  G.,  G()  u.,  198  n.,  387. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  238,  375. 

Scottish,  language,  92;  words,  58, 
149,  353,  364. 

Scriptural  language.    iS'ee  Bible. 

Sea-terms,  48  f.,  103,  108  f.,  150,  153, 
1,54  f.,  291,335. 

Secret  languages,  55 n. 

Semitic  languages  in  English,  108. 

Sense  and  sound,  331ff. ;  sense  af- 
fected by  supposed  etymology,  336. 

Sentiment  of  words,  143  f . 

Separative  compounds,  190. 

Serfs  in  England,  89,  284. 

Shakspere,"lOf.,  34  n.,  36,  46,  57,  67, 
69,  119n.,  1.35,  151,  155,  204,  207,  208, 
210,  212,  216  ff.,  226,  2;?4,  238n.,  250, 
257,  258,  263,  274  ff.,  279,  285  n.,  289, 
295,  296,  298,  :302,  312,  313  n.,  323,  337, 
349,  362  f.,  364,  365,  366,  373,  374,  375, 
377,  .'i78. 

Sheldon,  E.  S.,  137  u. 

Shelley,  Mrs.,  377. 


408 


INDEX  OF  MATTEUS 


Shortened  forms.  iSee  Clipped 
words. 

8idoiiius,  278. 

Simile,  15;  adjectives  comparable 
■with,  365. 

Singular  iu  s  mistaken  for  plural, 
132  f.,  13!»,  214  u.,  343. 

Skeat,  Professor,  341  n. 

Slang  (Chap.  VI),  55  ff. ;  phenomena 
parallel  to  those  of  legitimate  speech, 
55  ff . ;  how  made,  55  ff. ;  from  games 
and  sports,  oGff. ;  from  provincialisms 
or  foreign  words,  58  f . ;  ancient  slang, 
56,  59 ff.;  use  of  diminutives  and  the 
like,  60  f. ;  clipped  words,  Gl  ff. ;  Swift 
on  clipped  words,  62  f.;  clipping  pro- 
cess :iatnral  in  our  language,  63  f.; 
fantastic  coinages  and  distortions, 
64 ff.;  substitutions  and  variety  in 
slang,  69  f.;  phrase-composition  in 
slang,  70 ;  fragments  of  phrases,  70  ff. ; 
reasons  for  avoiding  slang,  72 ff.;  all 
slang  not  on  the  same  level,  74 ;  use  of 
slang  under  special  circumstances, 
74 ff.;  elaboration  of,  .362 u. 

Slang  words,  99,  102,  lllf.,  119n., 
141,  155  n.,  189,  192,  207,  211,  2.55,  304, 
306,  307,  312  ff.,  332,  349,  351,  353,  354, 
356  f.  See  Words  from  the  names  of 
animals  (.361  ff.),  and  from  places  or 
persons  (373  ff.)  ;  Colloquial  lan- 
guage ;  Hyperbole ;  Fashion. 

Slavery,  89,  284  ff.,  322 f. 

Smith,  C.  A.,  2.37  n. 

Society,  jargon  of,  53  f.;  phrases 
from  French,  99 ;  conventional  plirases, 
220  f. 

Soldiers'  slang.     See  Military  terms. 

Song  and  language,  5. 

Sophocles,  23S. 

Sound,  sinnlarity  of,  331;  effect, 
331  ff. 

Sound  and  sense,  4,  194,  226. 

Sound-change,  laws  of,  164  ff. 

South  African  Dutch.  112;  War,  112. 

Southern  dialect  of  English,  87. 

Spanish,  58  f.,  66,  107 f.,  136,  138, 
160,  164,  207,  323,  3.39,  346,  348.  3,50  f., 
381  f. ;  effect  on  Elizabethans,  118. 

Spanish  War,  112. 


Specialization,  247 ff.;  cause  of, 
248  ff.  ;  sliglit  change,  250;  every  man 
his  own  specializer,  251  f . ;  results  from 
ellipsis,  252  ff. ;  names  of  articles, 
254  ff . ;  in  pnjper  names,  255  f. ;  ab- 
stract to  concrete,  256ff. ;  radiation, 
259  ff . ;  the  «  +  b  process,  265  ff.  See 
Generalization. 

Spelling,  affected  by  etymology,  true 
or  false,  149,  331  ff. 

Spencer,  Earl,  256,  383. 

Spenser,  118,  295,  354,  363  n.,  375. 

Spices,  133,  337  n. 

Sport,  words  from,  56  ff. 

Spracbgefiihl,  120  f.,  147  f.,  181, 
2.33. 

Stage-terms,  58,  223,  246,  251,  268  f. 

Stem-composition,  176  ff.,  185 ff". 

Stem-endings,  174  ff . 

Stem-formations,  vagueness  of,  175f. 

Stems,  reduplicated  root  as,  173. 

Stems  and  roots,  168  ff. 

Stoic  philosophy,  37 ff.;  theory  of 
the  etymon,  229  ff.,  301. 

Straw,  Jack,  89. 

Style,  as  affected  by  the  rejection  of 
foreign  words,  26;  artistic,  70;  ten- 
dencies of,  110.  See  Choice  of  words  ; 
Fashion. 

Subjunctive,  204  ff. 

Sublime,  bathos  the  opposite  of, 
40  f. 

Substantive  verb,  238. 

Suetonius,  302 n. 

Suffixes,  135,  141  n.,  174ff.,  185  ff., 
201  f.;  confused,  187,  294.  6'ec  Com- 
parison ;  Inflection ;  Diminutives. 

Suggestion  in  language,  264. 

Sumner,  Charles,  78  f. 

Superlatives,  315,  342  f.  See  Com- 
parison. 

Superstitious  opinions  about  words, 
228f.,300ff. 

Surgery,  13. 

Surnames,  from  animals,  363.  See 
Family  names. 

Swearing.    See  Oaths. 

Swift,  on  slang,  62  f.,  65. 

Symbols,  105. 

Synecdoche,  15. 


INDEX   OF  MATTERS 


409 


Synouyms,8;  learued  uud  popular, 
20 ;  iu  slaug,  (J9  f . 

Syutax,  172,  178;  of  composition, 
172  ff.,  177;  English,  regularity  of 
modern,  122.  6'ee  Dative;  Infinitive; 
Subjunctive;  Inflection;  Idioms; 
Phrase-composition. 

Syriac,  44. 

Tamerlane,  89. 

Tartars,  254,  358,  379  f. 

Tatler,  The,  on  slang,  02  f.,  65. 

Tautological  compounds,  153,  348. 

Tautology,  209,  212  f.;  in  Anglo- 
Saxon,  113  f. ;  in  the  Book  of  Common 
Prayer,  114;  in  Bacon,  115,  209.  See 
Pleonasm. 

Technical  dialects  (Chap.  V),  42 ff.; 
their  relation  to  ordinary  speech,  52  f., 
75 ;  technical  words  become  popular, 
29  ff.,  42  ff.  See  Law;  Medicine; 
Science,  etc. 

Tennyson,  4n.,  9,  283,  284 n.,  3G8, 
379. 

Tense-endings,  180  f.,  182  f. 

Terence,  382. 

Termiuatious.  See  Derivation;  In- 
flection. 

Thackeray,  380. 

Theatrical  language.     -See  Stage. 

Theology.     See  Religious. 

Thieves'  slaug,  55  n. 

Titles  of  honor,  134,  144 ff.,  258, 
317ff.,322ff.,  348. 

Tmesis,  191. 

Tools,  etc.,  GOf.,  366 f.,  386 f. 

Tournaments,  57 f. 

Trade,  dialect  of,  42  ff.  See  Busi- 
ness. 

Trades,  names  of,  133  f.,  209. 

Transference  of  meaning,  subjective 
and  objective  (Chap.  XIX),  272 ff.; 
from  persons  to  things,  276 ff.,  297; 
from  things  to  persons,  278 f.;  in 
verbs,  151,  279 ff.;  in  names  of  ob- 
jects, 269  ff. 

Transitive  and  intransitive  verbs, 
190,  279  ff . 

Translation,  Greek  words  into  Latin , 
34 ff.,  242 ;  Latin  into  English,  48,  251 ; 


of  foreign  phrases,  103  ff. ;  difliculty  of 
rendering  English  into  French,  148. 

Trapping,  figures  from,  56. 

Travel  and  colonization,  108  f. 

Turkish,  17,  66. 

Turko-Russian  War,  71. 

Turks  in  Europe,  89. 

Twain,  Mark,  148  n. 

Tyler,  AVat,  89. 

Tyndale,  72  n. 

Umlaut  in  English,  136  n.,  199  f., 204. 

Uncle  Remus,  370. 

Understatement  or  litotes,  17. 

Uniformity  of  language,  124  ff . 

Unity  of  the  English  vocabulary 
(Chap.  XI),  147  ff. 

Universities  founded,  89. 

University  slang,  ()4,  67. 

Usage,  standard  of,  77,  217  f.,  233. 
See  Americanisms ;  Dialect. 

Vague  words,  2.35  ff. 

Van  Helmont,  51. 

Vehicles,  130  f . 

Verbal  roots,  169  ff. ;  stems,  176  f. 

Verbs,  inflection,  92  n.,  180  f.,  182  ff ., 
204  ff. ;  separative,  190  f. ;  interchange- 
able with  nouns,  191  f.,  363;  transfer- 
ence of  meaning  in,  279 ff. ;  transitive 
and  intransitive,  279ff. ;  causative, 
281;  from  names  of  animals,  365  f.; 
from  proper  names,  377  ff . ;  in  -ize 
i-ise),  379. 

Vine  culture,  13. 

Virgil,  238,  325,  375. 

Vocabulary.  See  English  vocabu- 
lary. 

Vocalic  r,  3.56. 

Volksetymologie,  331  u.  See  Folk- 
etymology. 

Vulgarity  in  language,  72. 

Vulgar  Latin,  96  f. 

Ward,  Artemas,  239. 
Ware,  W.  R.,69n. 
Ways,  names  of,  318  ff. 
Werewolves,  228. 
West  Germanic,  83,  93, 1.-36. 
Wiener,  Leo,  358  n.,  380  n. 


410 


INDEX  OF  MATTERS 


Wit.    See  Humor. 

Witchcraft,  ;ii:3  ii. 

Women's  hiuguage,  54. 

Words,  learned  aud  popular,  19  ff . ; 
coiiveutional  character  of,  72  f.;  de- 
velopiueut  of  (Chaps.  XIII,  XIV), 
KiSff.,  185  ff.;  essential  or  root  mean- 
iugs  of,  220;  connotations  or  associa- 
tions, 224  ff.;  magic  power  of ,  228  f., 
301 ;  words  are  not  formula},  234;  fad- 
ing in  particular  phrases,  231)  f . ;  trans- 
formed by  folk-etymology,  330  ff . ; 
doublets,  345 if. ;    homonyms,  357 ff.; 


two  words  developing  from  one  by 
variety  of  pronunciation,  213  f.,  355  ff. ; 
from  names  of  animals,  3G1  ff. ;  from 
places  or  persons,  372  ff.  See  Lan- 
guage ;  Learned ;  Meaning ;  Native. 

Wordsworth,  9  f. 

Wotton,  Sir  Henry,  289. 

Wrestling,  57. 

Writing,  \yords  connected  with,  136, 
230. 

Wyclif ,  88  f . 

Zeno,  the  Stoic,  37. 


INDEX   OF   WORDS 


A  1,59. 
aback,  49,  04. 
abalieuate,  46. 
abandoned, 307. 
abbot,  44. 
abed,  201. 

ab(b)omiuable,  342. 
-able,  187. 
aboard,  49. 
absit  omen,  302. 
absolutely,  315. 
absurd,  304. 
abuse,  213. 
accident,  303. 
ace,  57. 

Acbitophel,  375. 
across,  349. 
acute,  289. 
adamant,  1.37. 
ad  captandum,  71. 
adder,  11)8,  3U9  f. 
adjust,  214. 
admiral,  108. 
admiration,  257. 
admonish,  139. 
Adonis,  37G. 
adown,  63. 
adventure,  249. 
affection,  248. 
affidavit,  46,  99. 
against,  197. 
agate,  137. 
age,  152. 
ageynes,  197. 
agitation,  10  n. 
ago,  199. 
agone,  199. 
aid,  212  f. 
aid  and  abet,  216. 
aid-de-camp,  189. 
air,  castles  in  the,  381. 


-al,214n.,343. 
alack,  188  n. 
alack-a-day,  188. 
alamodeness,  188. 
alarm,  70,  189. 
alb,  44. 

alderman,  144  ff. 
alembic,  108. 
algates,  197  n. 
algebra,  108. 
alias,  46. 
alibi,  4(),  99. 
alive,  201. 
alkali,  108. 
allegro,  51. 
alley,  319,  321. 
all-fired,  304. 
All  Hallows,  207. 
allspice,  133. 
aloft,  107. 
alonges,  197. 
alongst,  197. 
alphabet,  136. 
always,  197  u. 
am,  238. 

amanuensis,  230,  239. 
amaze,  309  f.,  328. 
amazon,  370. 
ambassador,  63 u.,  290. 
amber-de-grece,  346. 
ambergrease,  340. 
ambergris,  346. 
amiddes,  196. 
amidst,  196. 
amonges,  190. 
amongst,  196. 
ampere,  384. 
ampersand,  105. 
Amphitryon,  71. 
ampulla,  -or,    L.,    58u., 
67  u. 

411 


amputation,  13. 

ancient,  '  ensign,'  359. 

ancient,  '  old,'  359. 

andante,  51. 

anger,  151. 

angle,  '  corner,'  359. 

angle,  '  fish-hook,'  359. 

angry,  237. 

animadversion,  59. 

animal,  99. 

animal  spirits,  33. 

annexion,  78,  79, 

-ant,  187. 

ante  up,  56. 

antic,  356. 

antimacassar,  384  n. 

antique,  350. 

-anus,  L.,  194  n. 

anxious,  282,  307. 

anyhow,  240. 

apathy,  39,  240. 

ape,  305. 

apish,  365. 

appetite,  13. 

apple,  138. 

appose,  04. 

apron,  198. 

Arab,  380. 

arabesque,  382. 

arbitrate,  29. 

arbitration,  29  . 

arc,  352. 

arch,  .352. 

-ard,  -art,  141,  305,  308  n. 

argol,  358. 

armiger,  172. 

army,  25. 

arrange,  103. 

arras,  384. 

'Arry,  ;;87. 

artichoke,  340. 


412 


INDEX   OF   WORDS 


article,  103. 
as,  as  now,  etc.,  215. 
ascendant,  34. 
aslnuan,  178. 
asparagus,  334. 
aspect,  33. 
assail,  59. 
assassin,  246,  380. 
assault,  59. 
assize,  64. 
assurance,  278. 
aster,  33,  352. 
asteroid,  33,  352. 
astonish,  309,  .328. 
astrology,  33,  352. 
astronomy,  352. 
-ate,  -ation,  193. 
at  fault,  75. 
athwart,  349. 
Atlantean,  381. 
Atlantis,  381. 
atlas,  381. 
atrocious,  314. 
attach,  153. 
attack,  153. 
attend  to,  59. 
Attic  salt,  380. 
auceps,  L.,  177. 
auction,  248. 
augur,  142. 
auncien,  359. 
auto,  61. 
avails,  64. 
avenue,  318,  320. 
away  ward,  64. 
awe,  151. 
awful(ly),276,  314f. 

babel,  376. 
back,  adv.,  64. 
badger,  n.,  362. 
badger,  v.,  366. 
badly,  316. 
bah,  3. 
balcony,  .3,55. 
ballad,  248. 
bam,  05. 

bamboozle,  G3,  65. 
banco,  351. 
bandy,  56. 


bang-up,  313. 
bank,  351. 
banke  rota,  352. 
bankrout,  352. 
bankrupt,  352. 
bannock, 107. 
banter,  63,  65. 
bard,  107. 
barouche,  132. 
base,  288,  307. 
Basil,  368. 
basilica,  368. 
basilisk,  367  f. 
basket,  107  n. 
basque,  255,  .384. 
bas-relief,  189. 
bat,  362. 
bate,  63. 
Bath  chair,  131. 
bathos,  40,  67  n. 
battalion,  63 n. 
battering  ram,  366. 
battle,  339. 
bawcock,  299. 
baxter,  209. 
Bayard,  368,  373. 
bazar,  109. 
be,  239. 
bead, 151. 
bear,  .362  f . 
bearable,  187. 
bearish,  365. 
bea.stly,  314. 
beautiful,  135,  313. 
beauty,  1.35. 
beaver,  .362. 
become,  237. 
bedlam,  388 f. 
bed  rock,  56. 
bee-line,  368. 
beet,  138. 
belfrey,  337. 
bell,  .337. 
Bellerophon,  335. 
belles  lettres,  189. 
belt,  below  the,  56. 
bench,  351  f. 
Benedict,  374. 
beuigne,  L.,  222. 
berliu,  131,  384. 


berry,  138. 

beside(s),  188,  197  n. 
bestead,  207. 
betimes,  188,  197  n. 
better,  153. 
better  world,  302. 
bettor,  153. 
betty,  61  u.,  386. 
bewitching,  313  u. 
bi-,  132. 
bias,  56,  59. 
bibble-babble,  332. 
bicycle,  132. 
bid,  151. 
Biddy,  387. 
big  story,  30(3. 
bilboes,  15. 
bile,  30. 
bilious,  31. 
-bills,  L.,  187. 
bill,  141. 
billy,  61  u.,  386. 
bind,  347. 
binnacle,  108. 
bird's-eye  view,  368. 
bishop,  44,  93. 
bishopric,  207. 
bit,  331. 
biz,  61. 
bizarre,  58. 
blab,  225. 
black,  330. 
black  jack,  387. 
blackamoor,  66,  380. 
blackball,  192. 
blackguard,  66. 
blackish,  330. 
blackleg,  6(5. 
blench,  281. 
blind,  362,  3(34,  368. 
block,  319. 
blockhead,  285  n. 
blood,  .30. 
blow,  283. 
blub])er,  295. 
Bluchers,  255,  382. 
blue,  62. 
blues,  62. 
bob,  141. 
bobolink,  16. 


INDEX   OF   WORDS 


413 


bodkin,  107  n. 
body,  24(J  f . 
body  politic,  247. 
Boer,  347. 
bog,  107. 
Bobemian,  380. 
bombast,  67. 
bona  fide,  102,  104. 
boons,  99,  102. 
boodle,  74. 
book, 136. 
booking  office,  271. 
bookworm,  363. 
boomerang,  109. 
boor,  108,285,  347. 
boorish,  307. 
booth,  347. 
bootjack,  61  u.,  387. 
boss,  252. 
bottle,  342. 
bonghten,  203. 
boulevard,  318,  320. 
boun,  347. 
bound, 347. 
bow-wow,  3. 
bowdlerize,  379. 
bower,  ;347. 

bower  (card  term),  347. 
bowl  over,  56. 
bowyer,  209. 
box,  71. 
boycott,  378. 
boyish,  .'565. 
bracelets,  69. 
brackish,  108. 
brag,  225,  373. 
braggadocio,  373,  376. 
braggart,  141,  .'i()8  n. 
brass,  69. 
brasses,  255. 
bravado, 58. 
brazen,  69,  203. 
bread,  .".30. 
breakfast,  330. 
break  ground,  r>C>. 
breathe  one's  last,  .302. 
breeches,  .305. 
Bridget,  .'iS7. 
bridle,  227. 
brine,  29.5. 


brock,  107. 

brogue,  107. 

broker,  2.53,  29(). 

brother,  159. 

brougham,  255,  382. 

Bruin,  370. 

brummagem,  .377. 

bubble,  63. 

bug,  51. 

Inill,  363,  364. 

bully,  63,  66. 

Bully  Ruffian,  335. 

bunco,  351. 

buncombe,  71. 

bunko,  351. 

burgh, 69. 

burial,  i:i9n.,  214 n.,  343. 

buriels,  r>43. 

burke,  377  f . 

'bus,  61. 

busk,  347. 

butt,  ?i.,342. 

butt,  v.,  338. 

butter,  342. 

butterball,  177. 

butterfingers,  178. 

butterfly,  177. 

buttermilk,  178. 

buttertub,  178. 

butterwoman,  178. 

buttery,  342. 

buzz,  16. 

by-and-by,  188,  292  f. 

cab,  61,  131. 
cabal,  68. 
cabbala,  68. 
cabriolet,  131. 
cad,  61. 
cadence,  .57  n. 
f!iT>sar,  373. 
caitiff,  287,  .307. 
calash,  131. 
caleche,  131. 
calf  love,  .368. 
calico,  2.55. 
call,  107. 
camber,  3.50. 
cambric,  .381. 
camera,  .350,  .356. 


cancel,  3.53. 

cancer,  3.52  f.,  367. 

candelabrum,  270,  294  n. 

candidate,  265  f. 

candy,  128,  225. 

canker,  353. 

can't,  62. 

cantankerous,  149. 

canter,  385. 

canting  dogs,  367. 

cap,  152  f. 

cape,  152. 

Cape  Cod  turkey,  .331 . 

cajier,  '  antic,'  366. 

caper  sauce,  366. 

caprice,  366. 

capriole,  366. 

captain,  1.55. 

Capua,  376. 

car,  130,  134,  271. 

caravau, 109. 

carcinoma,  .353. 

careless,  276. 

cargo,  49. 

carnival,  59. 

carouse,  70,  189. 

carpenter,  1.34. 

carriage,  1.30. 

cart,  130. 

cart-wheel,  141. 

case,  13,  240. 

cash,  69. 

cashmere,  3.3S,  .384. 

cassimere,  .3;!S. 

cast,  107,  243. 

castaway,  49. 

-caster,  93. 

castle,  94. 

castles  in  Spain,  in  the 

air,  381  f . 
casual,  343. 
casualty,  303. 
cat,  62,  .3()3.  3(;8. 
cataract,  2.52. 
catchbasin,  190. 
catchpoll,  190. 
category,  47. 
caterpillar,  .")63. 
cathedral,  132. 
Catoun,  96. 


414 


INDEX   OF   WOBDS 


cattish,  305. 
caustic,  136. 
cela  va  saus  dire,  103. 
ceut,  140. 
cereelotli,  333  n. 
certainly,  311. 
chaff,  71. 
chaise,  132. 
chalk,  93. 
challenge,  282. 
chamber,  330,  35G. 
chamberlain,  222,  205. 
chameleon,  3G9f. 
champagne,  384. 
champerty,  45. 
chance,  57. 
chancel,  353. 
chancellor,  353. 
chancery,  353. 
chandelier,  270,  294  n. 
change,  69. 
chant,  142. 
chanticleer,  370. 
chaos,  51,  249. 
chap,  62,  287. 
chape,  152. 
chapel,  152. 
chapelet,  153. 
chaperon,  153. 
chaplain,  153. 
chaplet,  153. 
chapman,  62,  209,  287. 
character,  8. 
charm,  248. 
charming,  313. 
chasm ,  249. 
chaw,  3.")4. 
chawbacon,  354. 
cheap,  198. 
cheater,  266. 
cheator,  288. 
cheek,  69. 
chemise,  305. 
cherub, 108. 
-Chester,  93. 
cheveanx-de-frise,  367. 
chevy, 71. 
Chevy  Chace,  71. 
chew,  354. 
chickadee,  16.     . 


chieftain,  155. 
childish,  365. 
childlike,  15. 
chimera,  369  f.,  376. 
chimney,  270. 
china,  255,  384. 
chivy,  71. 
choir,  152. 
choke,  340. 
chouse,  17,  66. 
Christian,  297. 
chuck,  298. 
chum,  (>7. 
church,  157. 
churl,  284  f. 
cicycle,  132. 
cinchona,  384. 
cinnamon,  1.33. 
cipher,  108. 
Circe,  376. 
Circean,  376. 
circle,  319. 
circumstances,  236. 
circumvallatiou,  63 n. 
circus,  59. 
cit,  61. 
citizen,  194. 
city,  142  f. 
Clark,  268  n. 
clean,  14. 

clear  the  decks,  49. 
cleave,  25. 
clench,  119n.,  354. 
clergy,  44  f. 
clergyman,  178  f. 
clerical,  44 f. 
clerk,  44  f.,  268. 
clever,  289. 
clinch,  119 n.,  354. 
cloak,  152. 
clod,  285  u. 
clodhopper,  285  n. 
clodpoll,285n. 
clotpoll,  285  n. 
clove,  3.37. 
clown,  285. 
coach,  131,  271. 
coast,  49,  249. 
coat,  382  n. 
cock,  56,  366  f. 


cock  (for  God) ,  34 n. , 304. 
cockney,  65,  66  n. 
cockpit,  49. 
Conn-  de  Lion,  363. 
coiner,  290. 
colonial  goose,  331  f. 
comfort,  212  f. 
common,  54. 
communication,  63  n. 
companion,  154,  287. 
comi^anion-way,  154. 
competition,  13. 
complete,  356. 
complexion,  31  f. 
compulsion,  on,  215. 
computation,  13. 
concerto,  51. 
conclusion,  foregone,  216. 
Concord  wagon,  131,  256. 
condition,  212,  235. 
conduct,  245. 
conductor,  271. 
confab,  62. 
confound,  212. 
congregation,  256,  265. 
conjure,  142,  356. 
conjure,  356. 
conjurer,  142. 
connection,  216. 
considering,  104  n. 
consols,  62. 
constable,  295  f . 
constellation,  352. 
continence,  150. 
contort,  46. 
contradict,  29,  215  f. 
convey, 45. 
conveyance,  45. 
conveyancer,  45. 
convoy, 45. 
coon,  62. 

Cooper's  cow,  368. 
cope,  152. 
copper,  385. 
copperas,  350  f. 
copperbottom ,  192. 
cordovan,  134,  254,  384. 
corduroys,  2.55. 
cordwain,  134,  254,  384. 
cordwaiuer,  134. 


INDEX  OF  WORDS 


415 


corking,  313.. 

corn,  135  f. 

corp,  132,  139,  343. 

corps,  343. 

corpse,  132, 139,  343. 

corpus  juris,  247. 

corsage,  305. 

cosmos,  247. 

cottage,  319  f. 

cottager,  319  f. 

couch,  191. 

cough, 332. 

count,  144  f. 

countenance,  1.50  f . 

counter,  57,  289  n. 

counterfeit,  289. 

counterpart,  289  n. 

countess,  94,  144. 

country  put,  G3. 

county,  144. 

court,  94,  282  n. 

courteous,  282,  327. 

courtesj',  284. 

courtly,  282. 

cousin,  67. 

cousining,  to  go  a-,  GS. 

coverchef,  270. 

cow,  365. 

coward,  241,  360,  365. 

cowish,  365. 

cowl,  44. 

coxcomb,  66. 

Cox  my  passion,  .304. 

cozen,  67  f. 

crab,  337. 

crack,  295. 

cradle,  107  n. 

craft,  289. 

craftsman,  289. 

crafty,  289. 

cramp,  138. 

crate,  130. 

crawfish,  336  f.,  366. 

crayfish,  336  f. 

crazy,  .307. 

cream  of  tartar,  358. 

crestfallen,  57. 

crevis,  3.'56. 

crime,  249. 

Croat,  380. 


crock,  107  n. 
crocodile  tears,  .369. 
crois,  350. 
croon ,  58,  149  n . 
cropper,  .56. 
cross,  129,  .349  f . 
cross  swords,  56. 
crow,  367,  .368. 
crowbar,  .367. 
crown,  141. 
crow  over,  57,  366. 
crucial,  350. 
crucifix,  350. 
cruciform,  .350. 
cruise,  350. 
crusade,  350. 
crusado,  350. 
crux,  350. 
cryptograph,  -30. 
cry  wolf,  370. 
cuckoo,  3ti6. 
cui  bono?  217 n. 
culverin,  367. 
cunning,  135,  289. 
cur,  338,  .363. 
curfew,  270. 
curious,  277. 
curmudgeon,  338. 
currants,  385. 
currency,  141. 
currish,  365. 
curst,  129. 
curves,  56,  59. 
cut,  63,  3.34. 
cute,  62,  289,  293  f. 
cutlash,  335. 
cutlass,  334  f. 
cycle,  62,  132. 
cynic,  382. 
cynical,  382. 
cynosure,  376,  382  n. 

d.,  104,  140. 
dago, 66. 
dahlia,  .384. 
dainty,  -345. 
dale,  140. 
damask,  .384. 
damo,.322f.,.348,  370. 
damn,  212,  210. 


damnation,  257. 

dan,  348. 

dander,  153. 

dandruff,  153. 

danger,  349. 

dangerous,  .307,  349. 

Daniel,  155,  375. 

daredevil,  190. 

darkling,  .342. 

darn,  304. 

daw,  363. 

Day,  209. 

days,  196. 

dead-eye,  deadman's  eye, 

49. 
deaf,  369. 
dear,  314. 

death-marked,  274. 
death-practised,  274. 
debased,  288. 
decease,  302. 
deceased,  300. 
deceitful,  307. 
deceivable,  276. 
deceive,  96. 
deck,  49. 
deem,  249. 
deemster,  249. 
deer,  249,  342. 
defaulter,  305. 
degraded, 288. 
deliberate,  140. 
delightful,  313. 
demesne,  348. 
demijohn,  .387. 
demon,  152,  158. 
Dempster,  249. 
denizen,  194. 
depart,  302. 
depend,  11. 
depraved,  .307. 
deputation,  14. 
derrick,  383. 
derring-do,  118. 
desire,  60. 
detach,  153. 
devil,  156 ff.,  252,  .374. 
devil-may-care,  188. 
devotee,  290. 
diagnosis,  101. 


416 


INDEX  OF   WORDS 


diamond,  ir.7. 
dictum,  9'.). 
dignity,  345. 
diplomacy,  28!t. 
dipsomaniac,  oOG. 
directly,  292  f. 
Dime,  Ger.,  286. 
dirty,  306. 
disabuse,  213. 
disappear,  303. 
disaster,  33,  282,  303,  352. 
disease,  248,  303,  307. 
disgusting,  314  f. 
dispensation,  216. 
dissolute,  307. 
dissolution,  .302. 
distemper,  31  f. 
distort,  46, 151,  306. 
distressful,  276. 
distressing,  314. 
disturb,  10  n. 
Dives,  .374. 
divide,  25. 
dividers,  102  f. 
divine,  313. 
divisor,  102  f. 
divorce,  46. 
doc,  63. 
doctor,  134. 
doctrine,  249. 
dodo,  108,  363. 
do  for,  303. 
dog,  363. 
dogged, 365. 
doggerel,  65. 
dog-grass,  334. 
dog-Latin,  (i5. 
dog-logic,  65. 
dcfg-rose,  .364. 
dogs,  .367. 
dogwliip,  330. 
dold,  364. 
dollar,  140. 
dolt,  'M'A. 
-dom,  179,  187. 
domain,  348. 
domestic,  299. 
dominant,  348. 
dominate,  348. 
domination,  .348. 


domine,  324,  348. 

domineer,  348. 

Dominican,  348  f. 

dominie,  348. 

dominion,  348. 

domino,  348'. 

dominos,  349. 

don,  322  f.,  348. 

donjon,  .348. 

donjon-keep,  348. 

Don  Juan,  375. 

do-nothing,  190. 

don't-ee,203. 

don't  speak  of  it,  302. 

doom,  179,  187,  249. 

doomsman,  249. 

door,  339. 

dote,  250,  363. 

dotterel,  363. 

double  a  cape,  216. 

doubtful,  276. 

doubting  Thomas,  374. 

dough,  210. 

dove,  130,  346,  369. 

down,  adv.,  63,  64,  107. 

down,  71.,  64. 

downright,  279. 

dragon,  340. 

draike,  64,  340  f. 

dramatis  personae,  269. 

Drawcansir,  373. 

drawers,  305. 

draw  the  long  bow,  306. 

dray,  131. 

dreadful,  276,314. 

dreadnaught,  I'.H). 

dredge,  131. 

drench,  281. 

drill,  12. 

drink  like  a  fish,  .362. 

driver,  271. 

drone,  363. 

drnid,  142. 

drunkard,  141,  360,  .368 n. 

drunken,  277,  .307. 

drunkenness,  306. 

Dryasdust,  .375. 

duck,  363. 

dudgeon,  208. 

duet,  52. 


duke,  145. 

Dulcinea,  375. 

dum,  304. 

dumb  as  an  oyster,  362.  - 

dumbfounded,  310. 

dump,  141. 

dun,  107. 

dunce,  373  f. 

dungeon,  348. 

durance,  216. 

dust   in    one's    eyes,   to 

throw,  .335. 
dustman,  178. 
duties,  253. 

-e,  201. 
eagle,  130. 
earl,  144  f. 
earn  .  .  .  salt,  60. 
earthen,  203. 
eat,  173  n.,  281. 
eatable,  187. 
eccentric,  32. 
eculeus,  L.,  367. 
-ed  (-d,  -t),  182. 
Edda,  107. 
edible,  187. 
editorial,  254. 
education,  231  f.,  239. 
effect,  2.36. 
effluvium,  30(). 
eft,  198. 
e.g.,  105. 
egregious,  11. 
-el,  136  n. 

elder,  -est,  199,  200. 
El  Dorado,  381. 
electric,  293  f. 
electricity,  294. 
electro-,  294. 
electrocute,  293  f. 
electrocution,  294. 
electrolier,  294  n. 
electrolysis,  294. 
electro-physics,  294. 
elegant,  277. 
element,  36. 
elemental,  .37. 
elementary,  36. 
elephantine,  365. 


INDEX   OF   WORDS 


417 


elevator,  '271. 
elixir,  108. 
-els,  214  n. 
'em,  202. 
emancipist,  305. 
embankment,  .ilS. 
embonpoint,  189. 
emerald,  137. 
emotion,  10  n. 
emporium,  134. 
empty,  v.,  279. 
-en,  adj.,  203. 
-en,  causative,  281. 
-en, /em.,  204. 
-en,  participial,  182,  203. 
-en,  plural,  182. 
enchant,  248. 
enchanter,  142. 
enchanting,  313. 
enchantment,  257. 
end,  .302,  342. 
endlong,  342. 
energy,  8. 
engage, 280. 
engine,  131,  223,  251. 
engineer,  271,  294  n.,29G. 
England,  83  n. 
English,  83. 
English  walnut,  340. 
enkindle,  10  f. 
enrolled,  00. 
ensign,  359. 
entail,  45. 
enthusiasm,  290. 
enthusiastic,  290. 
entrancing,  313. 
envy,  15'). 
ephthianura,  50. 
epic,  249. 
epicurean,  382. 
epi.scopal,  44. 
epos,  249. 
equanimity,  .38. 
-er,     comparative,     179, 

201. 
-er,  n.,  153,  29.3. 
erm,  358. 
errata,  99. 
erring,  291. 
erus,  L.,  .32.3. 

2b 


-es,    (jcnitive   and    adv., 

182,  196  ff.,  343. 
-es,  plural,  182,  202. 
-es,  3.   personal  ending, 

182. 
-es,  2.    perti'l  endinc/,  180. 
escheator,  288. 
essen,  Ger.,  276  n.,  354. 
essence,  37. 

-est,  superlative,  179,  200. 
-est,  2.  pers'l  ending,  180. 
estate,  235. 
etc.,  105. 
etymology,  230. 
euphemism,  117  n,,  301  f. 
euphony, 117  n. 
event,  240. 
ever  so,  316. 
everybody, 188. 
evet,  198. 
exactly  so,  310. 
exam,  01. 
ex  cathedra,  103. 
excellency,  258. 
excesses,  .305. 
exclusive,  104. 
execute,  293,  305. 
execution,  293. 
executioner,  293. 
executive,  293. 
executor,  293. 
exempli  gratia,  105. 
exercised,  210. 
exist,  239. 
exorcise,  156. 
exorcist,  142. 
ex  parte,  102. 
expedite,  00. 
expedition,  (iO. 
expire,  302. 
expiree,  .305. 
explode,  223. 
expression,  150. 
extempore,  189. 
extravagantly,  315. 
extremely,  315. 
ey,  05,  0()  n. 

fable,  02,  249. 
fact,  236  f.,253. 


factor,  134. 

factory,  l'>4. 
I  factotum,  71. 
I  fain,  210. 

fair  play,  57. 

fairy  tale,  300. 

falcon,  164,  .StW. 

fall,  «.,253. 

fall,  v.,  302. 

false  Iiooil,  .306. 

falsetto,  51. 

familiar,  175. 

familiarity,  175. 

fanatic,  290. 

far,  200. 

farmer,  285. 

farmstead,  207. 

farther,  17  n.,  200. 

farthing,  140. 

fast,  adj.  and  adv.,  198, 
307  f.,  336. 

-fast,  336. 

faste,  308. 

fatal,  303. 

fate,  249. 

father,  163,  227. 

fault,  305. 

favete  Unguis,  302. 

favor,  214. 

feather,  in  high,  .57. 

feather,  white,  57. 

feature,  151. 

fee,  165. 

feed,  225. 

feeling,  275. 

fell,  V.  trans.,  29,\. 

fellow,  287,  299  n.,  .327. 

fellowship,  287. 

felo  de  se,  .303. 

fence,  56,  61. 

'fess,  63. 

fetching,  313  n. 

feu.  'late,'  Fr.,  302. 

fez,  384. 

fiasco,  .58. 

fib,  (!2,  306. 

fibble-fabble,  62. 

tidus  Achates,  ;175. 

figure,  8,  52,  95. 

figurine,  52. 


418 


INDEX   OF   WOT^D.'i 


liliiis,  L.,  IfiO. 

tinale,  51. 

fine,  313,  3ir». 

fine,  in,  20(j  f. 

finely,  315. 

finish,  303. 

finuan  liaddie,  385. 

fire,  v.,  11,  (iO,  243. 

fire-dogs,  3G7. 

first,  200. 

first-rate.  313. 

fish,  1G3,  1G5,  .33G,  3G2. 

fislierman,  178  f.,  .330. 

fish  story,  30G. 

fisnomy,  ()2. 

fist,  224. 

fiabbergast,  74.  310. 

fiannels,  30.1. 

fiat  long,  i?42. 

ilea  in  his  ear,  308. 

rietcher,  209. 

flexure,  StG.         n 

float,  281. 

floor,  v.,  74. 

florin.  141. 

flotilla,  107. 

fly,?t.,51,3G7. 

fly,  z;.,  281. 

focus,  249. 

foliage,  3.38. 

folio,  99,  102. 

folk-etymology,  331. 

folk(s),  25. 

follow-me-lads,  190. 

folly-fallen,  274. 

fond,  2,50. 

fonned,  250. 

fonnen, 250. 

fool,  298,  30G. 

fooli.sh,  307. 

foolish-compounded,  274. 

foot,  202. 

fop,  GGn. 

for-,  151. 

forbid,  151. 

force,  113,  2,59. 

foregone  conclusion,  210. 

foremost,  .342  f . 

forgf't-me-not,  190. 

forlorn  hope,  227. 


forms,  290. 

forth,  200. 

fortliright,  188. 

fortune,  249. 

foul  play,  57. 

founder,  49. 

fourth,  140. 

fox,  129,204,  .3G2,  371. 

foxy,  175,  .305,  371. 

Frankenstein,  377. 

fraternal,  159. 

frau,  320  n. 

free  rein,  300. 

Frencliified,  380. 

French  of  Norfolk,  00,:;:!2. 

fressen,  G'cr.,  270,  ."■54. 

fret,  'adorn.'  270 n. 

fret,  'consume,'  11,  270. 

fretful,  27G. 

fret-saw,  270  n. 

fret-work,  270 n. 

Freyja,  320  n. 

Freyr,  320  n. 

friend,  330. 

friendship,  .3.30. 

frightful,  314. 

fro"^,  199. 

front,  11. 

froward,  154. 

fry,  225,  295. 

fuchsia,  384. 

-ful,  270. 

full,  adv.,  199. 

full-acorned,  274. 

full  tilt,  .58. 

further,  18 n.,  200. 

fustian,  07,  384. 

Gad,  ;Un.,  304. 
gage,  280  n. 
gain.say,  29,  215. 
gait,  207. 
gala,  3.55. 
gale,  355. 
gallant,  3,55. 
gallop,  281. 
game,  282. 
gargle,  173n. 
gargoyle,  173  n. 
garlic'.  210. 


gar-pike,  210. 

gas,  51,  2.52. 

gasconade,  380. 

gate,  207. 

gawk,  .'100. 

gear,  23(). 

geewhillikens.  .304. 

geewhiz,  304. 

gem,  137. 

general,  254. 

generally  speaking,  103  f . 

generate,  223. 

generous,  327. 

genteel,  350. 

gentile.  350. 

gentle,  320  f.,  3,50,  302. 

gentleman,  322,  325  ff. 

genus,  223. 

gerrymander,  OS  f. 

gesture,  1.50. 

get,  237. 

get-at-able,  1S9. 

ghost,  '248. 

ghostly,  212. 

gill,  (>i. 

Gillian,  01. 

gillyflower,  338. 

gin ^01,  .384. 

ginger,  133. 

gingiver,  133. 

gladsome,  135. 

gl.ass,  153,  2.55. 

glasses,  254. 

glaze,  1.53. 

glen,  107. 

ghjaming,  149. 

glome,  149. 

gloom,  149,  153. 

gloomy,  149. 

glorious,  313. 

glow,  149,  153. 

go,  237  ;  go  at,  .59. 

go-ahead-itive-ness,  189. 

go-between,  190. 

goat,  105. 

Godfrey,  304. 

gold,  1.3()  n. 

golden,  203. 

golly,  304. 

gone,  300. 


INDEX   OF   WOEDS 


419 


good  and  ready,  '■'•li'>. 

good-for-iiothiii.u,  2'.)S n. 

good-natured ,  288  n . 

goodness,  o04. 

(iood  Samaritan,  ".74. 

goods,  'J4!l. 

goody  goody,  17-''>. 

goose,  3(i;?. 

gore,  '  triangular  piece,' 

210. 
gore, 'blood,' 210. 
gore,  v.,  210. 
gorge,/'/'.,  •>05. 
gorgeous,  olS. 
gorgonize,  3()S,  :170. 
gorry,  .'504. 
gosh,  34 n.,  :;04. 
Goth.  .•^7!). 
Gothamite,  (10. 
gral),  l-'!8. 
Gradgrind;  .375. 
grain,  1  ■'!."). 
gramarye,  119. 
grampus,  ;»()2. 
grand,  .'!13. 
grandee,  107. 
grape,  138. 
-graph,  30. 
grapple,  138. 
grass,  3.34. 
grease,  34(i. 
greenhorn,  (>5. 
grief,  94. 
gris  amber,  34ti. 
grit,  G9  f . 
grocer,  133,  293. 
grow,  237,  281. 
Grundy,  INIrs.,  ;'.7."). 
guard,  GO,  271. 
guest,  1()3,  'Mry. 
guileless,  288. 
guinea,  141. 
gull,  303,  3()ri. 
gums,  25.'). 
gurgulio,  L.,  173  n. 
guy,  378. 
gypsy,  .380. 

habeas  corpus,  40. 
hal)itable.  187. 


hack.  01. 

had,  /iifcctioii,  183 f. 

had  better,  etc. ,  198,  205  f . 

haddock, 385. 

hag,  331,  3()0. 

haggard,  'gaunt,"  ;!<;0. 

haggard,  '  hawk,"  .'100. 

bagged,  300. 

haggle,  331. 

half-,  187. 

hallelujah,  108. 

hallow,  207. 

Hallowe'en,  207. 

hamlet,  143. 

hand,  211,230,  2.39. 

handicraft,  211. 

handiwork,  211. 

liandkerchief ,  270  f . 

handsome,  135. 

hang,  hanged,  hung,  .357. 

hangdog,  190. 

hansom,  131. 

harbor,  49. 

hard,  141  n.,  .308 n. 

hard-favored,  214. 

hardly,  311. 

Harpies,  1.54. 

harpoon.  1.54. 

Harris,  Mrs..  ;!75. 

harvey,  379. 

harveyize,  379. 

hateful,  270,  .314. 

hath,  200. 

hatred,  207. 

hautboy,  .52. 

have,  182  ff.,  205  f.      See 

had,  hath, 
hawk,  ?/.,  .331. 
hawk,  v.,  300. 
hawker,  331. 
hazard,  .57. 
he,  02, 202,  .".S*;. 
head,  201  ff. 
head-flaw,  49. 
headlong.  -342. 
head  man.  274. 
headsman.  274. 
headway,  49. 
heap,  227. 
boart-struck.  277. 


heart-whole,  274. 

heart-wished,  274. 

heave,  heaved,  hove, 357. 

heavenly,  31"i. 

heavenward,  180. 

hector,  v.  and  v.,  .373. 

hedge,  .3()0. 

hell-hated,  274. 

helm.  49. 

help,  299. 

hem,  pron.,  202. 

hemiptera,  51. 

hen,  311. 

hence,  197. 

henceforth,  188. 

hennes.  197. 

hen  peck.  .3()0. 

bent,  250. 

here,  pron.,  202. 

hereabouts,  197  n. 

hermetically,  384. 

he's,  02. 

hiccough,  332. 

hicket,  .332. 

bickup,  .332. 

hicock,  .332. 

hideous.  151. 

higgledy-piggledy,  74. 

high,  198. 

highness,  258. 

himself,  188. 

hint,  2.50. 

hipps,  02. 

hire,  p?'0?i.,  202. 

his,  61. 

hit  or  miss,  74, 190. 

hoax,  51,  70,  189. 

hocus,  189. 

hocus  pocus,  51,  70, 189. 

hodman,  178. 

hoggish,  305. 

hohiback,  190. 

holdfast,  I'.X). 

holey,  49. 

Holiness,  his,  2.58. 

hollow,  282. 

holocaust.  130. 

holy  dollar,  49,  141, 

Hoiy  Ghost.  212. 

holvstones.  49. 


420 


INDEX   or   WORDS 


home,  14.".  f.,  227. 

homelike,  IS."). 

homely.  18(i. 

homestead,  207. 

hominy,  lOi). 

honesty,  2r)2. 

honey,  298. 

honor,  27:5. 

houorahle,  27.3. 

-hood.  1S7. 

lK)ok  or  crook,  74. 

Hoosler,  2!>7. 

horoscope,  34. 

horrihle,  314. 

horrid,  314  f. 

horridly,  314. 

horse,  331,  3()4f.,  ,367. 

horse-car,  271. 

hostile,  345. 

hostler,  331. 

hound,   303. 

honnd,  i\,  '.M)5. 

hove,  3,j7. 

hue  and  cry,  209,  21(). 

hug  the  shore,  21(1. 

hug-me-tight,  190. 

human,  ■■>~)C). 

humane.  3.56. 

humor,  .30 ff.,  129,  248  n. 

humorous,  32. 

hung,  3,'>7. 

hussar,  109. 

hussy,  286. 

hustle,  108. 

Hyde  Park,  318. 

hyena,  352. 

hypnotism,  .38f). 

hypo,  62. 

hyps.    See  hipps. 

i-,  211. 
-ic,  187. 
-ical,  187. 
I'd,  62,  205. 
idea,  l.")6. 
idiot,  :'.06. 
idol,  m>. 
i.e.,  105. 
ignoramus.  58. 
ill,  129,  3.03. 


ill-conditioned,  212. 
ill-favored,  214. 
ill-humored,  129. 
illicit,  291. 
ill-tempered,  129. 
imaginary,  275. 
immediately,  293. 
immense,  31.3. 
immoral,  242; 
immorality,  .305. 
impassibility,  40. 
impassive,  39 f. 
impeachment,  216. 
impetus,  1,3. 
impolite,  .307. 
imprimis,  102  n. 
improliity,  59. 
imputation,  14. 
inaccurate,  307. 
in  articulo  mortis,  103. 
in  bank,  .351. 
incantation,  142,  248. 
incentive,  11. 
inclusive,  104. 
incog,  63). 
India  rubber,  2,55. 
indigestion,  30(). 
indiscretion,  307. 
indomitable,  1.37. 
inertia,  99. 
inlinite,  315. 
infinitely,  315. 
influence,  33  f. 
-ing,   173,    180,    182,    187, 

192. 
injunction,  46. 
injury,  245,  303. 
ink,  1.36. 
ink  eraser,  274. 
ink  stain,  274. 
innocent,  288. 
innuendo,  99,  102. 
insane,  307. 
insect,  .363. 
inside  out,  188. 
insides,  3)06. 
insignia,  3.59. 
insincere,  307. 
insinuate,  .'>65. 
instantly,  293. 


instead  of,  207. 
instigation,  11. 
insult,  .59. 
insurance,  178. 
intem]ierate.  3,07. 
inteniljle,  275. 
interim,  99. 
intestines,  30<). 
intoxication,  306. 
invidious,  1.56. 
iuM'ards,  306. 
iota,  311. 
irons,  254. 
is,  2.38,  240. 
-ise,  379. 
Isegrim,  .370. 
-ish,  186  f.,  36.5. 
Ishmael,  .374. 
isinglass,  108. 
it,  170. 
italics,  384. 
item,  99,  102. 
iteration,  170. 
itinerary,  170. 
iwis,  119. 
-ize,  .'OT. 

jack,  61  n.,  1.54,  386 f. 
jackanapes,  387. 
jackass,  .386. 
jacket,  153  f. 
jack-in-the-hox,  .387. 
jack-in-the-pulpit,  387- 
jackknife,  387. 
jack-of-all-trades,  71. 
jackscrew,  :W7. 
jackstraws,  387. 
Jack  Tar,  387. 
jacky,  .387. 
jade,  137. 

Jamestown  weed,  256. 
Japan,  255,  384. 
Java,  255,  .384. 
jay,  .362. 
Jeames,  .387. 
Jehusite,  .'')75  n. 
jehu,  375. 
jenny,  61  n.,  .386. 
jeopardize,  189. 
jeopardy,  70,  189. 


INDEX   OF    WORDS 


421 


jeremiad,  382. 
jersey,  255,  384. 
Jersey  justice,  37',ln. 
Jerusalem,  304. 
Jerusalem  artichoke,  ;i40, 
Jerusalem  crickets,  304. 
jet,  137,  385. 
Jew,  379. 
jewel,  137. 
Jew's  work,  3S2. 
Jezebel,  374. 
jimmy,  (il  n..  3H6. 
jimsou  weed,  25(). 
jiugo,  71. 
Job,  .374. 

Johnuy-jump-up,  VJO. 
Joseph,  374. 
jot,  311. 
jovial,  31. 
Judas,  373,  37(). 
Judas  kiss,  .')73. 
juggler,  142. 
jump  on,5it. 
juncture,  21G. 
Jungles,  GGu. 
Juno,  37(5. 
junta,  107. 
jupartie,  IS'J. 
just,  214. 
just  so,  310. 
justicer,  46. 
justiciar,  4(). 
justiciary,  46. 
justify,  214. 

Kaffirs,  6(>n. 
kaiser,  373  n. 
kangaroo,  109. 
kaser,  373  u. 
keen,  289. 
kerchief,  270. 
kernel,  135. 
kersey,  338. 
kerseymere,  338. 
kosar,  373  n. 
kicker,  rA). 
kickshaws,  189. 
kiduey,  ()3. 
kill.  .302. 
killjoy,  190. 


kilo,  01. 
kind,  330. 
kindly,  330. 
kindness,  330. 
kindred,  207. 
kingdom,  179. 
king's  evil,  384. 
kink,  108. 
kis.s-me-quick,  1!K). 
knapsack,  108. 
knave,  285  f.,  299. 
knee,  103. 

knickerbockers,  305. 
knifeblade,  330. 
knight  errant,  291. 
knock-out,  50. 
knowing,  289. 
kyrie,  72. 
Kyrie  eleison,  72. 

lackadaisical,  188. 

lack-a-day,  188. 

lady,  210," 317,  322,  3241'., 

327  f. 
lamb,  303. 
lame,  3()4. 
landau,  131,  384. 
Land  of  Nod,  370. 
landscape,  109. 
lane,  319,  321. 
language,  2. 
lanyard,  335. 
Laodicean,  385. 
lapse,  305. 
large,  25. 
last,  302. 
latakia,  384  f . 
late,  209  n.,  300. 
Latimer,  209. 
law,  104. 
lay,  151,  281. 
layman,  245. 
lazar,  374. 
lazaret,  48. 
leaden,  203. 
lead  pencil,  270. 
league,  347. 
leal,  353. 
lee  shore,  49. 
leek,  210 n.,  311. 


leeway,  49. 

leg,  01,  304. 

legal,  353. 

legion,  250. 

lenger,  -est,  200. 

lesson,  249. 

let,  n.,  213. 

let, '  hinder,'  209. 

let,  '  permit,' 209;  to  let, 

275 ;  let's,  180. 
level,  140. 
lewd,  290. 
Hard,  308 u. 
liberal,  215. 
lick,  370. 
lie,  151,  281. 
lie,  mentlri,  254,  305  f. 
lief,  190. 
lieu,  347. 
-lier,  294  u. 
lieu,  207,  339. 
lieutenant,  189. 
lifeless,  302. 
lift,  v.,  58. 
lift,  ?i.,271. 
ligament,  347. 
like,  15,  179,  185  f. 
like,  v.,  204. 
lily,  226. 
limb,  304. 
linen,  305. 
-ling,  187,  342. 
lingerie,  305. 
lionlike,  305. 
lion's  share,  370. 
liqueur,  248. 
liquor,  248. 
list,  214. 
listless,  214. 
lists,  58.  . 

litter-egg,  (55. 
little,  01. 
livelong,  21(5. 
lively,  20,  307. 
liver,  225,  295. 
livery,  154. 
lives,  19(i. 
loaf,  210. 
loatlisome,  314. 
loch,  107. 


422 


INDEX   OF   WORDS 


locomotive,  131. 

locum  teueus,  18!). 

logic,  -ili. 

loiter,  100. 

long,  l-'OO. 

-long,  3412. 

long  l)Ow,  306. 

loo,  ()1. 

look,  151. 

loou,  3(i4. 

loouy,  61,  364. 

loosen,  281. 

loot,  m. 

lord,  210,  3125  f. 

lordship,  258. 

loriaier,  209. 

l.)se,  lo.st,  302. 

Lothario,  375. 

louis,  141. 

loun,  364. 

love,  135. 

lovelace,  375. 

lovelock,  274. 

lovely,  135,  313. 

lovesick,  274. 

low,  198,  288. 

lown,  ;3()4. 

loyal,  353. 

lucifer,  177. 

Lucretia,  374. 

ludi  magister,  44  u.,  324. 

lunatic,  31,  3(>4. 

lupus,  367. 

lust,  214,  290. 

lust-dieted,  279. 

lustring,  335. 

lutestring,  3.'55. 

-ly,  15,  179,  186f.,  199. 

Lydford  law,  378  f . 

lynch,  378. 

lyric,  254. 

'm,  202. 

macadam,  .379U. 
macadamize,  379. 
macassar,  .384. 
machiavellian,  .382. 
machine,  251. 
mackintosh,  255,  382. 
macrocosm,  247. 


mad,  307. 
madam,  323. 
madding  crowd,  216. 
madman,  306. 
madras,  255,  384. 
madrigal,  52. 
Mitceuas,  373. 
Magdalen,  376. 
magic,  141,  382. 
magnesia,  385. 
magnet,  385. 
magnetic,  385. 
magnetism,  385. 
magnificent,  313. 
magpie,  362. 
mahogany,  ()9. 
main,  216,  254. 
mainland,  254. 
maintenant,  Fr.,  292  n. 
maize,  i;>6. 
Majesty,  his,  258. 
makeshift,  190. 
make  way  with,  302. 
mam  met,  377. 
man,  327,  341. 
-man,  178  f. 
mandrake,  340  f. 
manganese,  385  n. 
maniac,  306. 
manna,  108. 
mannish,  .365. 
mansiiin,  249. 
manual,  343. 
mar,  211. 

marching  order,  60. 
marc,  296. 
niariage  de  couveuance, 

103. 
mark,  God  save  the,  ',i02. 
mark,  to  hit  the,  57. 
marline,  109. 
marquess,  145. 
marsh,  211. 
marshal,  295  f.,  320. 
martinet,  155. 
mass  play,  .'56. 
master,  324. 
mastheaded.  192. 
masticate,  354. 
mate,  287. 


mater,  L.,  160. 
matter,  236. 
matter-of-fact,  188. 
mattock,  107  n. 
maudlin,  376. 
maumet,  377. 
meander,  378. 
meantime,  188. 
meanwhile,  188. 
meat,  216,  249. 
Mecca,  376. 
Mediterranean,  2.54. 
medium,  252. 
meerschaum,  254. 
melancholia,  31  n. 
melancholy,  30  f . 
mellifluous,  128. 
memorandum,  99,  102 
menage,  191. 
mentor,  .373. 
mercenary,  307. 
merchant,  287. 
merci,  /'/•.,  222. 
mercurial,  31. 
meridian,  2.54. 
mermaid,  211. 
mesel,  3(54  n. 
mesmerism,  386. 
Messiah,  108. 
-mest,  200,  343. 
metal ,  355  f . 
metaphysical,  46. 
metaphysics,  46. 
mete,  209. 
Methusaleh,  374. 
mettle,  355  f . 
mew  up,  216. 
microcosm,  247. 
mid,  61. 
middy,  61. 

might  and  nuiin,  216. 
mile,  202. 
milkman,  178. 
mill,  140. 
milliner,  .385. 
milord,  326  n. 
minimum,  99. 
minister,  248,  296. 
minster,  44. 
mint,  139  f. 


INDEX   OF    WORDS 


423 


mischance,  303. 
misconduct,  305. 
miscreant,  245. 
misdemeanor,  30."). 
miserable,  314. 
misfortune,  30.'!. 
misguided,  305. 
mishmash,  332. 
misrepresentation,  30(). 
miss,  Gl. 
Miss,  322,  325. 
missing,  302. 
misstatement,  30(5. 
Mister,  322,  324. 
mistress,  324. 
mite,  311. 
mob,  01  ff. 
moccasin,  109. 
mocha,  255,  384. 
molasses,  12S. 
mole,  3()3. 
Moll,  (i3. 
monarchy,  44. 
monastery,  44. 
money,  139  f. 
moneyer,  293. 
monitor,  139. 
monk,    'monaclius,'    44, 

93. 
monk,  '  monkey,'  (il. 
monkey,  3()3. 
monkey  with,  305. 
monologue,  44. 
monotone,  44. 
monstrous,  314. 
moo,  3. 
moor,  212. 
mop,  107  n. 
mope,  225. 
moral,  242. 
morass,  211. 
morliid,  39  n. 
morocco,  384. 
morris  dance,  '■'>'6'1. 
mortal,  303. 
mortgage,  45. 
mortmain,  45. 
Mosaic,  .■!82. 
mosaic.  .382. 
most,  201. 


-most,  343. 
mother,  l(jl,  227. 
motoneer,  294 n. 
motormau,  178. 
mountebank,  352. 
mousing,  3(i(j. 
Mr.,  .324 f. 
Mrs.,  324 f. 
Mrs.  Grundy,  375. 
Mrs.  Harris,  375. 
much,  312. 
mule,  .302,  307. 
mulish,  305. 
murmur,  173,  340. 
muslin,  384. 
mutaude,  Ital.,  304. 
myrmidons,  379. 
myth,  249. 

uaddcr,  198. 
uagent,  197. 
nankeen, 109. 
napoleon,  141. 
uapple,  197. 
napron,  198. 
nasty,  314. 
natural,  254. 
natural  spirits,  ;!3. 
naturally,  149. 
naught,  298.311. 
naughty, 298. 
nauseous,  315. 
navy,  25,  311. 
near,  -er,  17  u.,  200. 
neck,  305. 
uccrf>mancer,  141. 
nedes,  needes,  190. 
ne'er-do-well,  190. 
neger,  357  n. 
negro,  149,  350  f . 
neighbor-stained,  274. 
nephew,  KiO. 
nequam,  L.,  298 u. 
nerve,  213. 
nervous,  213. 
-ness,  180  f. 
nest,  209. 
Nestor,  373. 

nethermost,   17  n.,  200  f. 
342  1. 


never,  311. 

never  so,  310. 

nevvmarket,  384. 

newspaper,  253. 

newt,  197. 

next,  200. 

ney,  0(in. 

nice,  54,  277,  297  f.,  314  f. 

nick  of  time,  292  u. 

nig,  207. 

nigger,  357  u. 

nigger,  (10,  350  f. 

nigh,  200. 

night-horse,  211. 

nightmare,  211. 

nights,  19i;. 

nil,  204. 

Nimrod,  375. 

Nimshi,  375. 

nincompoop,  51,  07,  70. 

nip  and  tuck,  74. 

no,  311. 

no  end, 315. 

no  kind  (sort)  of,  298  n. 

no  more,  302. 

noble,  327. 

nobody,  188,  298 n. 

nonce,  197. 

non   compos   mentis,  51, 

07,  70. 
non-con,  02. 
non  obstante,  104  n. 
nonplus,  103. 
noon, 44. 
Norn,  107. 
nosethril,  12. 
nostril,  12. 
nostrum,  99,  101. 
not,  311  f. 
note,  141. 
iiotemuge.  1.3:'.. 
notwithstanding,  104  n. 
nowheres,  197  n. 
nun,  44,  93. 
nut,  1.33. 
nutmeg,  13.3. 

ol).,  101. 
obiit,  L.,  .">03. 
obituary,  30,3. 


424 


INDEX   OF    WOIWS 


oboe,  52. 
Odd's,  ;504. 
Odd's  bodkins,  o04. 
Odd's  my  life,  304. 
Odd's  pitikins,  304. 
odium,  273. 
of  course,  311. 
offence,  305. 
offhand,  188. 
olticious,  253. 
ofteutiuies,  188. 
ogre,  380. 
oh,  3. 
ohm,  384. 

old,  -er,  -est,  152,  1<»9. 
old  hand,  305. 
old  man,  .325. 
omen,  282. 
on,  215. 
once,  19G  f. 
ones,  19G. 
oolong,  255,  384. 
opera,  51. 
operations,  f)3n. 
operetta,  51. 
opinion,  272  f. 
opposal,  64. 
oppose,  ()4. 
-or,  153. 
orphan, 211. 
orrery,  383. 
-osity,  193. 
oust,  197. 
out,  347  f. 
out-,  187. 
outdoor,  188. 
outer,  347. 
out-Herod,  378. 
outlaw,  188. 
outrageous,  314. 
outrance,  347  f . 
outskirts,  318. 
overcrow,  57,  3*36. 
overlord,  188. 
owlish,  .3(;5. 
oyster,  311. 

pad,  ()1. 
Paddy,  00. 
iiuin,  245. 


painful,  270. 

painter,  340. 

palace,  370. 

pall,  03. 

pallisadoes,  ()3n. 

palming,  03. 

pan-,  342. 

pandar,  373. 

pander,  373,  377. 

panic,  382. 

pantere,  340. 

panther,  339  f. 

pantry,  342. 

papa,  44. 

paper,  130,  245,  253. 

par,  74. 

paralyze,  310. 

parchment,  130. 

parfet,  -tit,  333. 

parish  council,  271. 

park,  319. 

parole,  71. 

paroquet,  129  f. 

parrot,  129,  303. 

parry,  50. 

parsley,  138. 

parson,  208  f. 

part,  236. 

Parthian  shot,  380. 

pas,  Fr.,  312. 

pasquinade,  .")74  f. 

pass  away,  .'^00,  .')02. 

passion,  39,  41,  47. 

passionately,  315. 

passive,  39  f. 

pasteboard,  69. 

past  master,  .'524. 

pate,  225. 

patent,  39. 

pathetic,  40. 

pathos,  40. 

patriarch,  318. 

patron,  318. 

Paul  Pry,  375. 

pauper,  155. 

pawn ,  290  n . 

pay  the  scot,  or  shot,  140. 

pea,  132,  139. 

pea-jacket,  153. 

peach,  138. 


pear,  138. 
pearl,  137. 
pearline,  203 n. 
peculiar,  175. 
peculiarity,  175. 
pedagogue,  44 n. 
peevish,  149,  155. 
pelican,  369. 
pen,  13,  136,  209 f. 
pencil,  270. 
penny, 140. 
pennyroyal,  ^340. 
penthouse,  337. 
pentis,  337. 
pepper,  133. 
per  cent,  01,  140. 
l)erfect,  313,  315,  333. 
perfectly,  315. 
perfidious,  .307. 
perfidious  Albiou,  380. 
periwinkle,  plant,  300. 
periwinkle,  shell,  300. 
perpendicular,  09. 
persely,  138. 
persil,  1.38. 

person,  54,  208  f.,  326. 
perspiration,  300. 
pert,  01. 
pese,  139. 
Peter,  138. 
peter  out,  50. 
petition,  13. 
petrel,  130. 
petrified,  310. 
petticoat,  1:505. 
petulant,  13. 
phaeton,  222 f.,  383. 
pheasant,  129,  385. 
phiz,  02. 
phlegm,  30. 
phlegmatic,  31. 
phoenix,  3(i9. 
'phone,  02. 
phonograph,  30  n. 
phosphorus,  .30. 
photo-,  30. 
pliotogra])li,  29  f. 
phthisis,  50. 
physical,  239. 
physician,  117  u. 


INDEX   OF    WORDS 


425 


physics,  117  n. 

physiology,  117  n.,  'J39. 

piauo,  51,  (jl. 

piazza,  244. 

piccolo,  51. 

pickers  and  stealers,  6'J. 

Pickwickian,  382. 

picture,  244. 

pig,  3G2. 

pigeon,  130,  3(33. 

piggish,  365. 

pike,  62. 

pillar,  295. 

pilot,  149. 

pincers,  ;542. 

pinchbeck,  377. 

pinchers,  ;M2. 

pin-raoney,  60. 

pion,  290."^ 

pioneer,  296. 

pipe,  252. 

piracy,  289. 

pirate,  291. 

piratical,  49. 

piscatorial,  165. 

pistol,  385. 

pitiful,  276. 

place,  94,  239,  244,  319. 

planet,  254. 

platonic,  382. 

platypus,  49. 

plausible,  291. 

play,  250  f. 

please,  204. 

plenipo,  63. 

plight,  253. 

pluck,  ;>03. 

plum,  138. 

pocket,  249. 

pocket  handkerchief,  270. 

pocket  pistol,  69. 

poet,  248. 

point,  <X;,  312. 

poison,  96. 

poke,  249. 

polite,  282. 

polka,  109. 

polonaise,  255,  384. 

pompous,  278 

ponder,  140. 


poor,  155. 
pope,  44,  93. 
pore-blind,  342. 
port,  93. 
port  duties,  253. 
portly,  225. 
pose,  64. 
poser,  64. 
position,  235. 
possum,  62. 
post,  295. 

post  mortem,  102,  303. 
post  obit,  .303. 
posture,  235. 
potato^  138. 
pother,  225. 
pound,  n.,  140,202. 
pound,  v.,  119  n. 
power,  259  If. 
powerful,  314. 
pozz,  62. 
pp.,  104. 
practice,  253. 
practise,  274. 
prsemunire,  71. 
precious,  222. 
precocious,  11. 
predicament,  47,  253. 
predominant,  31. 
preliminaries,  63  n. 
premium,  102. 
presbyter,  44. 
presently,  292  f. 
pretty,  135. 
priest,  44. 
priestcraft,  290. 
prime  of  life,  .'537. 
primerole,  337. 

primrose,  337. 

prince,  317 f. 

prison,  94. 

prithee,  203. 

private,  254. 

privateering,  289. 

probity,  59. 

prof,  63. 

professor,  318. 

profound,  .■!,5(). 

l)rof()und]y,  ."dO. 

Promised  Land,  381. 


pronunciamento,  107. 
propaganda,  71. 
property,  8. 
prophet,  142. 
prophylaxis,  101. 
propriety,  252. 
pros  and  cons,  62. 
prove,  280 f. 
provisions,  256. 
pruning  hook,  274. 
pshaw,  4. 
pub,  62. 
publican,  288. 
puliall  royal,  340. 
pump.  251. 
pun,  119. 
Punic  faith,  380. 
puppy,  363. 
purblind,  341  f.,  364. 
Puritan,  297. 
purlieu,  339. 
purpose,  on,  215. 
put,  n.,  63. 
put  away,  303. 
putative,  14. 
puzzle,  64. 
pyro,  62. 

quaint,  277  f. 
Quaker,  297. 
quality,  35. 
quantity,  35. 
quartet(te),  52. 
quean,  286. 
queen,  286. 
quench,  281. 
quibble,  35  u. 
(piick,  198. 
quiddity,  35. 
quillet,  35  n. 
quinine,  203  n. 
quinsy,  64. 
quintessence,  37. 
quip,  35  u.,  119  n. 
Quirites.  /..,  227. 
quirk,  119  n. 
quite  so,  310. 
quixotic,  382. 

raccoon,  t)2. 
rag,  67. 


426 


INDEX   OF    WORDS 


ragaiuuffin,  (57. 

railroad,  i'.,  187. 

raise,  15(5. 

raise  Cain,  .'574. 

rake,  n.  aiul  v.,  oSl. 

rakebell,  337. 

rakel,  337. 

ram ,  3(5(5  f . 

ramrod,  liX). 

range,  251. 

rapid,  308. 

rarebit,  331. 

rascaillc,  288. 

rascal,  288,298. 

rash,2!)l. 

rat,  v.,  305  f. 

rate,  240. 

ratio,  350. 

ration,  350. 

rat-tail  tile,  3(57. 

rattling,  313. 

raven,  331. 

ravening,  331. 

ravishiugly,  314. 

re-,  187. 

read,  214. 

reason,  3.50. 

rebel,  253  n. 

recalcitrant,  5i). 

recipe,  9'J,  101. 

reckless,  291,  3(J7. 

recognizance,  21(5. 

regard,  14,  232. 

regarding,  104  n. 

register,  251. 

reindeer,  342. 

religion,  231  f.,  239,  244  f., 

252. 
religious,  245,  2'.K). 
remove,  303. 
renegade,  1(J7,  207. 
renege,  207. 
renig,  207. 
rep,  62. 
repeat,  13. 
reputation,  14,  272 f. 
residence,  319. 
Kesidenz,  Ger.,  249. 
respect,  14. 
respectable,  292. 


restive,  194. 

restless,  194. 

revel,  253,  291. 

Reverence,  his,  258. 

reverend,  27(5. 

reverent,  27(5. 

revise,  150. 

reynard, 370. 

rhododendron, 350. 

rhyme,  332  f . 

rhythm,  333. 

rickshaw,  (52. 

riddance,  21(5. 

riddle,  214. 

rien,  Fr.,  312. 

right,  199. 

rill,  319. 

rime,  332  f. 

Rip  \'an  Winkle,  375. 

rival,  222. 

river,  222. 

rivulet,  222,  319. 

road,  1(55,  318,  320. 

roadstead,  207. 

roar,  15(5. 

robin,  130. 

rogue,  298. 

romance,  30(5,  380  f. 

Roman  tirmness,  380. 

romantic,  381. 

rook,  n.  and  v.,  3(53. 

roorback,  375. 

root,  i\,  359. 

roquelaure,  383. 

rose,  350. 

rosemary,  339. 

msmarine,  339. 

rotten,  314. 

rough-and-ready,  74,  188. 

rubber-neck,  255. 

rubbers,  255. 

ruby,  137. 

rude,  307. 

rug,  (57. 

ruin,  .'>03. 

rum,  (51,  128 f. 

rumbullion,  128. 

ruminate,  354  f. 

run,  207,  281. 

run  aground,  49. 


run  counter,  57. 
runagate,  207. 
rush,  154. 
rush  the  growler,  75. 

s.,  104,  140. 
-s,  in  nouns,  182. 
-s,  in  verbs,  92  u.,  182. 
sack,  59. 
sackbut,  338. 
sage,  38. 
sail,  24(5. 
saint,  2!K),  377. 
St.  Anthony's  tire,  384. 
St.  Vitus's  dance,  384. 
sal  Atticum,  380. 
salaam,  108. 
salamander,  (59,  309. 
salary,  (JO. 
saleable,  187. 
saleslady,  318,  322. 
salvage,  150. 
salvages,  149. 
Samson,  374. 
sanctified,  290. 
sanctimonious,  290. 
sand,  70,  335. 
sandblind,  335. 
sandwich,  25(5,  383. 
sanguine,  31. 
sapphire,  137. 
Saracen,  374  n. 
sardonic,  00. 
Satan,  374. 
satire,  3.>.3n. 
Saturnalia,  59. 
saturnine, 31. 
sat  yr,  333  n . 
satyr(e),  333  u. 
sauterue,  384. 
savage,  149. 
savvy,  58. 
sawhorse,  307. 
Sawney,  (56. 
scald,  3(54. 
scales,  270. 
scape,  (53. 
scarcely,  311. 
scene,  24(5. 
school,  44. 


INDEX   OF    WORDS 


427 


schoolboy,  o30. 
scilicet,  105. 
scissors,  3ooii. 
scold,  12'J. 
score,  260. 
scorpion,  ;j(jl). 
scot,  140. 

scratch,  come  to  the,  .j(). 
scuttle,  I'.,  4!>. 
'sdeath,  304. 
searcloth,  333  n. 
secure,  278. 
security,  97. 
sedau  chair,  131. 
seer,  142. 
seigneur,  325. 
seisiu,  154. 
seize,  154. 
selectmen,  271. 
self-slaughter,  303. 
sely,  288  n. 
semi-,  187,  3,)'). 
seneschal,  2!t.j  f.,  320. 
senior,  322,  325,  353. 
seiior,  325. 
sent  up,  305. 
separable,  275. 
sequelae,  101. 
seraph,  108. 
sere,  350. 
serious,  ."503. 
serpent,  3(13. 
servant,  25,  28(),  2!)!». 
.set,  151,  154,  200,  281. 
settle,  303. 
seven,  1(53. 
sever,  1)7. 
Shaker,  207. 
sham,  03,  ()5. 
sliamc.  273,  330. 
shamefaced,  235 f. 
shamefast,  .335  f . 
shameful,  273,  314. 
shamrock,  107. 
shan't,  02,  204. 
sharp,  28! I. 
sharpen,  281. 
shay,  132. 
she,  ;;8(). 
sheep,  303. 


sheepish.  305. 
shekel,  108. 
sherbet,  108. 
sherris,  384. 
sherry, 384. 
shift,' 304  f. 
shilling,  140. 
shilly-shally,  204. 
ship,  *•.,  40. 
shipmaii,  178. 
shipwreck,  49. 
shirt,  305,  345. 
shop,  134. 
shoplifter,  58  u. 
short,  .305. 
shot,  140. 
shrapnel,  383. 
shrew,  129. 
shrewd,  129. 
shuttling,  O:;. 
shut  ...  to,  3(>0. 
Shylock,  373. 
sick,  .303  n. 
sick  bay,  49. 
sidelong,  342. 
siesta,  108. 
signer,  .322,  325. 
silent  majority,  302. 
silly,  288. 
Simon  Pure,  375. 
simony,  382. 
simple,  288. 
simple-answered,  274. 
simply,  315. 
since,  197. 
sine  die,  103. 
sinew,  213  n. 
singe,  281. 
singsong,  I'.K). 
sink  or  swim,  74. 
sir,  322,  .325,  331,  353. 
sire,  .323,  ."25,  353. 
sirloin,  331. 
sirrah,  .■)54. 
sir-i-ee,  354. 
sit,  151,200,  281. 
sithenes,  sithence,  197. 
situation,  235. 
si.v,  lO.'i  f. 
sizar,  04. 


size,  04. 

skald,  107. 

skirt,  H.,  305,  345. 

skirt,  v.,  210. 

skunk,  303. 

sky,  107. 

sky-pilot,  (J9. 

slantin',  09. 

slantindicular,  09. 

slave,  ;'.S0. 

sleepy,  277. 

slender,  109. 

"slife,  304. 

sling,  243. 

slip,  305. 

slogan,  107. 

slough,  107  u. 

slow,  198,  332. 

slowworm,  332. 

slubber,  225. 

slug,  141. 

sluggard,  141. 

sly,  289,  302. 

smallclothes,  305. 

smalls,  (i2. 

smart,  289. 

smock,  304. 

smug,  225. 

snake,  298,  303. 

sneaking  fondness,  210. 

snow,  104. 

so,  310. 

sofa,  108. 

soft  impeachment,  210. 

soldier,  140. 

sole,  12. 

solecism,  00. 

solemn,  278. 

solemnity,  278. 

solemnize,  278. 

Solomon,  155,  374. 

Solon,  155,  373. 

-some,  135. 

some-place,  188  n. 

somewhat,  188. 

somewhere,  188. 

somewheres,  197  n. 

son,  KiO. 

soon,  198,  292. 

sooth,  142. 


428 


ixDEx  OF  wonns 


soothsayer,  142. 

sophist,  28!l. 

soprauo,  51 . 

sorehead,  o&2  n. 

sorrel,  adj.,  351). 

sorrel,  n.,  359. 

sortilege,  141. 

sot,  66  n.,  3()(i. 

sound,  adv..  1'.I8. 

sound  in,  '214. 

sour,  o5fl. 

sovereign,  141. 

sow,  '352. 

sow-thistle,  o(i4. 

space,  153. 

Hpaiu,  castles  in,  3.sl  i. 

span,  153. 

spaniel,  385. 

sparrow  grass,  334. 

spasin,  153. 

spasmodic,  1.53. 

spatter,  27S>. 

specie,  133. 

species,  133. 

specs,  62. 

speculations,  63  u. 

speeil,  214. 

spencer,  256,  .383. 

spendthrift,  liX). 

spice,  133. 

spider,  3()7. 

spill,  249. 

spin,  1.53. 

spinning  jenny,  61  n.,.586. 

spirit,  33  u. 

spiritual    wickedness    in 

higli  places,  258. 
spit,  279. 
splendid,  313. 
spoil,  11. 
sport,  62,  .307. 
spot,  292  u. 
spout,  295. 
spread-eagle,  3()8. 
sprinkle,  279. 
spur,  11. 
square,  319. 
squash,  n.,  139,  .3(iO. 
squash,  v.,  139,  .360. 
squaw,  109. 


squeeze,  342. 
squinaucy,  64. 
squire,  (i3,  26ti. 
squire  of  dames,  375. 
-St  (-est),  200  f. 
stand,   207,   239  f.,    28 J, 

341. 
standard,  341. 
stanza,  51. 
star,  .352. 

stars  and  garteis,  34. 
start  in,  .56. 
starvation,  192. 
state,  2.35. 
status,  235. 
stead,  /(.  and  c,  207. 
steer  clear  of,  49. 
stellar,  352. 
stellate,  352. 
stellify,  352. 
stench,  .'HXi. 
Stentor,  382. 
stentorian,  382. 
step-,  211. 
stepchild,  211. 
stepfather,  211. 
stepmother,  211. 
stepson,  211. 
-ster,  209. 
steward,  29(i. 
Stewart .  296. 
stick,  249. 
stien,  211. 
.still,  198. 
stimulus,  99. 
stirrup,  210. 
Stocks,  ou  the,  .51). 
Stoic,  37. 
stoical,  .39,  382. 
stoicism,  39,  .382. 
stone,  n.,  252,  330. 
stoue,  ;j^,  202. 
stool  pigeon.  .363. 
store,  13>4. 
stove,  109. 

straightforward,  279. 
Stratford  French,  60. 
straw,  71. 

street,  93,  246,  318,  321. 
street  Arab,  380. 


strenger,  -est,  200. 
strengthen,  281. 
strong,  200. 
stunning,  313. 
stupefied,  310. 
stupendous,  313. 
sty,  n.  and  r.,  211. 
style,  15,  333 u. 
sublime,  .313. 
Sublime  Porte,  71. 
suborn,  208. 
subpcena,  46,  103. 
success,  253. 
sugar,  128. 
suggestiou,  253. 
suicide,  303. 
sullen,  12. 
summer  beam,  367. 
Sumner,  20fl. 
sumpter,  :5()7. 
superb,  277,  313. 
superfluous,  279. 
superior,  99. 
superlatively,  :)14f. 
support,  295. 
supreme,  356. 
sur-,  3.31. 

sur  le  champ,  292 u. 
sure,  278,  311. 
surely,  311. 
surety,  97,  278. 
surfeit,  306. 
surloin,  331. 
surprise,  310. 
surrey,  256,  384. 
sweat,  30(). 
sweet,  314. 
sweetmeat,  249. 
sweets,  62. 
swift,  ,308. 
swine,  352. 
swing,  69. 
syllable,  343. 
sylvan,  149. 
Sylvauus,  149. 

tabernacle,  351. 
taboo,  109. 
tack,  1.53. 
tailor,  45. 


INDEX   OF    WORDS 


429 


takp,  107,  281,  Win. 
taken  ab.u'k,  4'.i. 
taking,  ;!i;!ii. 
tally,  45,  2(i(j. 
tame,  137. 
tanner,  141. 
tantalize,  379. 
tar,  15.3. 
taradiddle,  30<i. 
tarantula,  339. 
tarnal,  (il  n. 
tart,  153. 
tartar,  .'5.58. 
Tartar,  .358,  .379  f . 
Tartuffe,  375. 
Tatar,  3.58,  379. 
tatter,  153. 
tattoo,  'drum-beat,' 
tattoo  (of  the  flesh), 
tavern,  351. 
tawdry,  377. 
tea,  109. 
tear,  153. 
tea-totaller,  .'i.32. 
tea-tree,  :>;>2  n. 
teche,  3.38. 
techy,  338. 
teetotal,  332. 
teetotaller,  .332. 
teetotum,  ;>32. 
telegraph,  30n.,  50. 
telephone,  30  n. 
telltale,  190. 
temper,  ;>2,  129. 
temperament,  31  f. 
tiunple,     'part     of 

head,'  358  f. 
templ(>,    '  place    of 

sliip,"  .358  f. 
tenner,  141. 
tense,  359. 
termagant,  129,  .'!74. 
terrace.  319. 
terra  cotta,  51. 
terrible,  282. 
terrier,  254. 
terror,  151. 
Tervagant,  1*29. 
tetter,  15.3. 
texture,  95. 


3(iO. 
■MO. 


the 


-th,  compared  I  re,  200  f. 
-th, personal  ouJinf/.  92  n. 
thank'ee,  '203. 
that,  '202. 
tlie,  202. 
thee,  203. 
their,  202  f. 
them,  202 f. 
then,  197. 
thence,  197. 
thereabouts,  197  n. 
thereby,  182. 
therefrom,  182. 
therein,  188. 
thief,  '298,  .305. 
thing,  235  f . 
thorough, 213. 
thoroughfare.  214. 
thorough-lighted,  214. 
thoroughly,  213. 
thorough-shot,  214. 
thoroughwort,  .359. 
thou,  ISO. 
thrasonical,  ;'>82. 
thrice,  19(;  f. 
thrill,  11,314. 
throstle,  i;'.0. 
through,  21.">. 
throughand  throngli.  188, 

214. 
throughout.  188. 
throw,  1.5:?,  '241,  '24;!. 
thrush,  1.30. 
thryes,  19(;. 
thug,  24(1. 

thunderstruck.  310. 
tick,  on,  02. 
:  ticket,  02. 
ticket-ottice,  '271. 
tide,  v.,  150. 
tidings,  150. 
tidy,  .384  n. 
tighten,  '281. 
tilt  at,  .57  f. 
times,  the,  152. 
Timon,  374. 
tip-top,  .31;?. 
ti-tree,  332  ii. 
ti-tri,  .3.32  n. 
tittle,  311. 


tittle-tattle,  :!:;2. 

to-,  1.54. 

to,  ;'iiio. 

to  and  fro,  199. 

to  be  let,  275. 

to  be  sure,  311. 

to  let,  209,  275. 

to  .wit,  1.5(1. 

toad,  '298. 

toby,  .387. 

toe  the  mark,  5(J. 

Tom,  (k'i. 

tomahawk,  109. 

tooth  and  nail,  74.  188. 

topical,  381  n. 

topography,  381  n. 

torsion,  40. 

torso,  51.  .      ■ 

tort,  40,  151. 

tortoise,  347. 

Tortugas,  :')40. 

tortuous.  151. 

torture,  40,  151. 

total,  .332. 

touch,  338. 

touch  of  nature,  217. 

touchy,  338. 

toward,  154. 

towards,  188,  1<>7  n. 

tower,  94. 

town,  142  f. 

trace,  .57. 

track,  .57. 

tram,  271. 

transgression,  .">05.  3,07. 

traps,  pack  uj)  one's,  .5(). 

treacle,  1'28,  '20(1  f. 

tree,  1.53. 

tremendous.  .'>1.'>. 

triantelope,  3;)9. 

trice,  210. 

trio,  51. 

trip  up,  57. 

trouble,  .305. 

trough,  15.">. 

trow,  119. 

true,  tru-th,  tru-ly,  etc., 

9,  315. 
truss   u[)   yowY   trinkets, 

5ti  n. 


480 


INDEX  OF  wnnn.'^ 


trusty,  277. 
tsar,  oTo. 
tuber,  .'539. 
tuberose.  338  f. 
tuberous,  339. 

tug,  ;;of;. 

tuneable,  275. 
Turk,  129,  379. 
turkey, 129. 
turn,  280. 
turncoat,  190. 
turnstile,  190. 
turtle,  '  dove,'  SW. 
turtle,  'tortoise,'  34Gf. 
tweed.. 3S4. 
tweeze,  :U2. 
tweezers.  342. 
twice,  19(;f. 
twicet,  197. 
twit,  15(;. 
twitch,  ir)3. 
-ty,  187. 
tyke,  298,  3(53. 
typo,  62. 
tyrant,  248  f. 

urn,  202. 
umbrage,  208. 
umpire,  198. 
un-,  187,  .300. 
uncivil,  .">07. 
unclean,  307. 
uncomprehensive,  27."). 
underclothes,  305. 
undershot,  188. 
undertaker,  252  f. 
under  way,  49. 
underwear,  .305. 
uneasy,  .307. 
unexpressive,  275. 
unfaithful,  ;>07. 
unlicked  cub,  .370. 
unsafe,  307. 
unship,  49. 
unsophisticated,  289. 
untidy,  251. 
untoward,  154. 
untruthful,  ■">07. 
unutterably,  310. 
unwelcome,  150. 


unwise,  3,07. 
uppermost,  17  n. 
up  to  you,  it  is,  5(i. 
upwards,  197  n. 
Utopian,  ;;81. 
utter,  .347. 
utterance,  .347  f. 
utterly,  310,  .".15. 

V,  141. 

vacuum,  99. 

vails,  04. 

valet,  280. 

Valkyrie,  107. 

vamoose,  58. 

van, 61. 

Vandal.  379. 

vandalism,  379. 

varlet,  28(>. 

varsal,  61  n. 

'varsity,  61. 

vasa  colligere,  56. 

vaseline,  203 n. 

vassal,  286,  325. 

vassalage,  28(). 

vastly,  314. 

vaticination,  290 n. 

vehicle,  130. 

velocipede,  132n. 

venge,  96. 

venison,  282. 

ver-,  Ger.,  151. 

veranda,  244. 

verdigris,  346. 

vernacular,  2.39. 

verse,  44. 

very,  25,  315. 

veto,  m. 

via,  99. 

vice, 'fault,' 242,  291,307, 

358. 
vice,  '  instrument,'  358. 
vice-,  358. 
vice-president,  358. 
vicinity,  .318. 
victoria,  256,  382. 
victory,  25. 
vie,  156. 
vigorously,  .308. 
viking,  107,  291. 


vile.  291.307. 
villa.  143 n.,  319,  321  f, 
village,  143. 
vilhUn,  284  ff. 
villany,  '284 f. 
vim,  1)9. 
violence,  10  n. 
violin,  51  f. 
viper,  363. 
virago,  1*29. 
virtu,  .".1, '242. 
virtue,  241  f . 
visage,  156. 
vision,  156. 
visnamy,  62. 
visor,  15.3,  156. 
vital  spirits.  .33. 
vivacious,  20. 
vixen,  129,204,-362. 
viz.,  105. 
volt,  384. 
voltaic,  384. 
voyage,  9(i. 
vulpine,  .365.' 

wag,  61. 

wage,  280  n. 

wager.  45,  280  n. 

wages,  45,  '280  n. 

wag(g)on,  130. 

wain,  1.30. 

waist,  305. 

walking  stick,  274. 

wall,  93,  246,  .340. 

walnut,  3i40. 

Waltham  calf,  .368. 

wan-,  306. 

wanted,  305. 

vv-anton,  2.53,  306 f. 

■  ward,  -wards,  180,  197  n 

warlock,  339. 

warp,  243. 

was,  239. 

washerlady,  322,  .326  n. 

washerwoman,  326 n. 

wassail,  189. 

watch  and  ward,  216. 

watertly,  '■'<('>'.'>. 

watt,  .384. 

wax,  '237 u.,  3,05. 


INDEX   OF   WOTIDS 

way,  130,  154,  321. 

wliy,  202. 

worshipfnl,  292. 

v.;\yward,  (14. 

wight,  34(), 

wort,  359. 

weaken,  2S1. 

wigwam,  109. 

worth,  acJj.,  '292. 

wear,  274  f. 

wildcat  llnanciering.  -"OS. 

worth,  v.,  2.37. 

weasaiicl,  207. 

wild-goose  chase,  3()8. 

worthless,  307. 

weather,  ?'.,  49. 

will, '204. 

worthy,  292. 

Webster,  20'). 

Will,0;!. 

wot,  15(). 

wedlock,  207,  248. 

willy  nilly.  190.  204. 

would  better,  200. 

weed,  'garment,' 

358. 

wink,  214  f.,  225. 

would  rather.  290. 

weed,  'plant,'  .358 

winsome,  135. 

wreak,  288 n. 

Weib,  (Jer.,  287,  3 

21  ill. 

winters,  190  n. 

wreck, '288 u. 

welcome.  IHO. 

Wirrwarr,  Go-.,  332. 

wren.  1.30. 

welkin,  208. 

wise,  141,  150. 

wrestle,  57. 

well-favored,  214. 

wist.  1.50. 

wretch,  288,  298. 

well-groomed,  5(5. 

wistaria,  .384. 

write,  13(). 

Wellingtons,  2.">r)f 

,  382. 

wit,  wits,  141,  156,  289. 

wrong,  107,  300. 

well-to-do.  1S8. 

witch,  141. 

wroot.  .3,59. 

Welsh,  ;wo. 

with,  215. 

Welsh  rabbit    (rarebit). 

withers,  215  n. 

Xanthippe,  37G. 

.-531. 

withhold,  215. 

wench,  28('.. 

withisay,  29,  215. 

-y,  180  f. 

were,  239. 

withstand,  215. 

yacht,  109. 

werewolf,  152. 

wizard,  141. 

Yankee,  0(i,  297,  379 

whale,  51. 

wol,  204. 

yard,  335. 

what,  202. 

wolf,  303  f.,  370. 

yea,  310  f. 

what's  what.  ;'.5. 

wolfish,  305. 

year,  201  f . 

wheedle,  (h. 

wolt,  204. 

yearn,  '  desire,'  ■">58. 

wheel,  2.-)l. 

woman,  287,  320. 

yearn,  '  mourn,'  ;'>58 

wherewith,  188. 

womanish,  305. 

Yengees,  00. 

wherewithal,  the. 

210. 

woman-tired,  306. 

yes,  .310  f. 

Whig,  297. 

wonderfnl,  313. 

yoke,  103. 

while,  195. 

won't.  204. 

yokefellow,  287. 

whiles,  190. 

woodcock,  304. 

yon,  310. 

whilom,  195. 

wooden,  203. 

yore,  198. 

whilst.  19<i. 

woodland  glade,  ."il9. 

you,  204. 

whip,  02. 

woo't,  204. 

whit,  .340. 

workman,  179. 

zany,  387. 

white-livered,  295 

world,  152. 

zealot,  290. 

whiz,  10. 

worm,  71.,  51,  .30:'..  .■!()7. 

zoo,  01. 

who,  202. 

worm,  r.,  305. 

zouave,  :!80. 

whopper,  300. 

worship,  292. 

zounds,  304. 

431 


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MACMILLAN   AND   CO.,   Ltd.,   LONDON. 


ENGLISH    LITERATURE— Ov///;///^./. 

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THACKERAY  :  A  Study.     By  A.  A.  Jack.     Crown  Svo.     3s.  6d. 

PRIMER  ON  BROWNING.  By  F.  Mary  Wilson.  Croun  Svo. 
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Globe  Svo.     2s. 

/ 

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